


The Popstar and the Pauper

by lemonout



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonout/pseuds/lemonout
Summary: Sara Clement agrees to do a huge favor for Grammy-winning popstar Tegan Quin.





	1. The Meeting

Sara Clement bops her head to the beat, mouthing the words to what is quickly becoming her favorite song as she makes her way through a huge heap of clean towels. _It's not just all physical...I'm the type who won't get oh so critical._ She pauses in her work—and her epic lip syncing—to blow a long strand of blond hair out of her face. 

Damn, the new Tegan Quin track is such a banger. It almost makes Sara forget that she's the towel girl at a gym on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Really, she doesn't care what she's doing as long as she's got a good soundtrack. With songs as catchy as they are personal, and having established herself an outspoken advocate for the LGBTQ community, Tegan Quin definitely holds a special place in Sara's heart. The popstar isn't her type or anything, but she definitely admires the queer singer.  

Sara has been working at Fitness Factory for three months now, and though it was mundane at first, things got better when she realized the manager doesn't care if she plugs in all day while she works. Wash, fold, stack, repeat. It's not rocket science, but when the beloved bookstore where she'd been working could no longer afford the rent, it meant she was out of a job. This was the only place hiring at the time, and she wasn't about to give up on her goal of saving enough money for university. Not when she'd come so close—two more months or so, and she'll have enough to go away to school for real. Plus, the free gym membership is certainly a bonus. 

At twenty-five, Sara only has a handful of community college credits under her belt, but when your single mom is a social worker that can barely pay her own bills, that's reality. It had been hard to fill in scholarship applications between working all through high school, but with Sonia’s help, she'd managed, and was able to get a few courses paid for. After a few years of taking a class here and there, impatience got the best of Sara and she realized that if she worked full time for a while, she could earn the money faster and go to a better school. So here she is. 

And being financially independent has its perks. Sara is fond of her tiny studio apartment, and though it's not in the greatest part of town, it's hers alone. Smart budgeting means she has enough to support her hobby of playing music, and Sara is proud of her small but curated collection of secondhand guitars, plus one decent keyboard. It's not like she's trying to be a rockstar or anything—she just enjoys playing for herself or friends when they come and hang out. She'll even write something of her own once in a while. Sara has never shared her songs with anyone, of course; not friends, not her ex-girlfriend, no one. That would be embarrassing. 

Anyway, Sara just has to save a little more money, and she’ll be on her way. Long story short: if she has to fold towels for a bit, she can handle it. 

 _...Can you come a little closer?_ The song ends just as Sara folds the last towel. Perfect. She loves when that happens. 

As she's removing her earbuds, the door to the sub-level laundry room at the top of the stairs bangs open, and Sara looks toward it, expecting to see a member of the cleaning crew or Mike, her manager. Nothing could have prepared her for what actually flies into the room, though.

"Hey, I'm so sorry," the figure—a girl—no, it's a woman, she's just really short and it was hard to tell at first because she's running down the stairs in a blur—says to her breathlessly. "I just need to find a place to hide. It'll only be for a few minutes, I promise."

"Um..." Sara's eyes track the intruder, who without permission nimbly ducks under the table where Sara had been folding towels moments ago. Though the person is almost out of sight now, Sara can tell that despite the heat, she's wearing a sweatshirt and sunglasses, with dark brown hair peeking from beneath a hood. "Why?"

The woman angles her face up at Sara. "I'll explain in a minute," she sighs, "Just...let me catch my breath."

Her voice is oddly familiar to Sara, but she can’t quite place it. She nervously looks toward the closed door, twisting a piece of hair from her ponytail around her finger. "Are you in trouble?"

Her visitor snorts. "Kinda." 

Sara waits for her to elaborate. 

"I just need you to stay calm for a hot sec...Sara," the stranger adds, nodding at the name tag. 

"Okay, look. You can't just come barging into—” 

Before she can finish, the girl lifts the sunglasses from her eyes. For the first time, Sara gets a good look at her face. She gasps, forgetting what she’d been about to say.

"Oh, my God. You're—”

"—Don’t say it."

"—Tegan Quin!" Sara squeals. What are the fucking odds?

The woman in question winces. "Yeah. But as previously mentioned, I'm in a fix here, so could we keep it down for a minute?"

This proves not to be a problem as Sara stares speechlessly at the celebrity crouching beneath her table. She's makeup-less, in a plain sweatshirt and jeans with decidedly un-styled hair, but despite the dressed-down appearance, she is unmistakably Tegan Quin. As in, one of the most popular contemporary recording artists in the world. As in, the person she’d been listening to sing her heart out minutes earlier.

"Whoa," she breathes. Sara steps out of the shadows, moving closer to the table to get a better look at the living, breathing Tegan. But when the overhead light illuminates Sara's own face, it's the other woman’s turn to gasp. 

"Holy shit,” Tegan says, her voice colored with shock. “Don't think I'm weird for saying this, but do you realize you kind of look..."

Oh. Right. 

"...Like me?" Tegan finishes.

"Ah, yeah, I've actually been told that," Sara giggles. She cannot _believe_ this is happening. 

After Tegan came on the scene so many years ago, it wasn't long before everyone noticed their friend Sara's resemblance to the up-and-coming pop singer, the one who had begun appearing on the cover of all the teenybopper magazines. After the Hannah Montana jokes, there was a brief period when a teenaged Sara ran to her mom, crying and demanding to know if she'd been lied to about being adopted. Sonia had soothed her distressed daughter, showing her her birth certificate and assuring her—with a note of amusement in her voice—that no, she was not secretly the twin sister of a famous teen popstar. 

Life went on. Sara began dying her hair blond in high school because she felt like it, but a pleasant side effect was that people stopped mistaking her for Tegan in public. It didn't happen all that often to begin with, but when it did, it was beyond awkward. She'd be left stammering an apology, trying to explain to the would-be fan in the middle of the grocery store that she wasn't who they thought. The tattoos she's gotten over the years help, too. 

"Apart from the hair, anyway," Tegan is saying, and Sara floats back to the present. 

"Well," Sara shrugs, "I do dye it. My natural color is...close to yours, actually."

From her place on the floor, Tegan scrutinizes her with hazel eyes, scanning everything from her blond hair to her crumpled work shirt to the tattoos covering her arms. It starts to make her uncomfortable. "Wow, yeah. Except for that, it's almost like..." Tegan trails off, shaking her head. 

Sara can tell that the other woman is shaken, and she feels a twinge of sympathy. She's had most of her life to get used to knowing she looks just like, well, a more successful version of herself. But Tegan walked into it without warning, having no idea that someone like that was out there. She must think Sara is an alien or something.

"I know. It's strange." Sara gives her a kind smile before extending a hand. "Like having a doppelganger, right? Here, let me help you up."

"Thanks." Tegan allows herself to be pulled from her place beneath the table, and when she collects herself, Sara giggles again. 

"Wow, you always seemed...taller," she says shyly. Contrary to how she's appeared on TV and in photos, Tegan can't have more than an inch or so on Sara, whose friends never let her forget that she's an embarrassing 5' 1". In fact, she's noticed that they're the same size pretty much everywhere. 

"Yes, the camera adds 10 inches," Tegan quips. 

"Ha. So, are you gonna tell me, uh, why you're in this basement?" Sara had forgotten her nerves for a moment, but they've since returned, as nerves do. 

"Right, sorry. The paparazzi—I was running from them," Tegan frowns as she unties the strings of her hood to take it off, "And this was the first place I saw. Normally it's not this bad, but one of my security guys is off today, and they got confident." At this, Tegan takes out her phone, presumably to text someone an update. 

"Oh, my God," Sara says again, startled by Tegan's description of the encounter. "Your, uh, people—aren't they looking for you, then?"

She looks her over again. As lowkey as the singer is attempting to appear, there's still a confident air about her that Sara sometimes wishes she had in herself. She can’t really explain it, but it’s obvious even in the way Tegan is standing. Call it charisma, star power, whatever—no wonder the paparazzi found her out. Sara wouldn't be able to hide it either, she figures. 

"Yeah. I've just told them I'm fine." Tegan waves the phone at her. "They saw me run in here, then probably circled the block to throw off the paps. It's all good."

"Oh. That's...good. Are you okay to leave, then?"

Sara is instantly horrified by what she just said. "Not that I want you-"

Thankfully, Tegan laughs, running a hand through her unkempt hair. "No, it's fine, I know what you meant. Yes, I'm sure it's safe now..." she looks down at her phone again. "Oh, shit."

"What is it?" 

Tegan's brow crumples. "Shit," she says again. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Sara's eyes widen. "Sure," she says. Is she kidding? Anything.

"When do you get off work?" 

"Um, my shift just ended, actually. Why?"

"Do you live nearby?"

Sara is confused. "Yeah, it's about a five minute walk. But..."

"My manager and everyone got stuck in traffic a ways over," Tegan sighs. "Do you think we could go to your place for a bit so they can pick me up from there? I know it's a stupid thing to ask, but they're having trouble getting over here," she says. 

Sara's jaw drops. Tegan Quin? In her crappy little apartment? No way. "I don't think that's a good idea," she says out loud. 

Tegan's features morph into a pleading look. "No, come on, it would be such a huge help," she says. "We'll just run over there, my car will swing around, and I'll be out of your hair in, like, five minutes."

"It's not that, I just..." Sara can feel herself weakening before Tegan's puppy dog face. She’s seen something like it in her music videos, but that doesn’t compare to the power of experiencing it in person. Jesus.

"Please? I promise, it'll be so quick, and then you can go back to your life. I'm sorry again that this happened," Tegan adds.  

"No, stop, it's fine! This—it’s amazing," Sara laughs in disbelief. "I'm a really big fan."

This earns her a famous gummy grin. "Thanks," Tegan says. "That makes me feel a little less guilty."

Sara tugs at her ponytail awkwardly. "Uh, don't mention it."

"So what do you say?"

Sara pauses for a moment to think it over. When is she going to get another opportunity like this? This isn't her life. Stuff like this doesn't happen to Sara Clement.

She makes her decision.  

"I guess it can't hurt. I was heading home anyway," Sara agrees.

"Awesome!" Tegan squeals. "Thank you so much."

"Happy to help. Let me just get my..."

"Of course, yeah. Don't let me hold you up. Do you need help carrying anything?"

Sara shakes her head. "No, I just need to change my clothes, and I've got my bag here. I have to go to the staff bathroom, which is upstairs, but I'll just be a moment."

"Sure, sure." Tegan is already engrossed in her phone as Sara climbs the stairs. 

She changes quickly in the bathroom and finds that she's shaking all over. Is Tegan Quin really waiting for her in the _basement_ of the gym where she works? She can't fathom it. But she's not crazy, so it must be true.  

Indeed, when she quietly cracks open the door to the laundry room a second time, Tegan is bundled up again in her sweatshirt and glasses, ready to go. 

"Let's do this," she smiles.  

Sara swallows. "Okay, follow me." 


	2. The Agreement

They take a shortcut to Sara’s apartment that she knows, to lessen the chance of someone recognizing Tegan. Fortunately, the late afternoon casts plenty of shadows on the sidewalk, and despite the terrible traffic, they hurry along undetected.

Sara glances at her companion, looking for her reaction as the buildings turn shabbier, but Tegan offers no comment. They turn onto her street, and Sara leads her up two sets of stairs to her apartment.

“Okay, this is it,” she says halfheartedly, gesturing at the small room as she quickly shuts the door behind them.

Her studio is small by anyone’s standards, but the natural light helps, plus some cheery home décor that Sara has found on sale at Urban Outfitters over the years. The kitchen and living room area are connected, with a tiny hallway leading off to the bedroom and bathroom. It’s not much, but she’s just one person, and it’s enough for her. She fell in love with the place immediately, and anyway, all she needs is a couch to curl up on with a good book, space for her instruments and a bed to sleep in.

Well, usually it’s enough for her. Today, however…

Tegan immediately sheds her glasses and sweatshirt, silently asking for permission to put them down on the kitchen table, which happens to be the surface nearest to them. Sara nods, and removes the light hoodie she’d been wearing, too. She can't help but sneak another look at the celebrity in her kitchen, comparing her to all the photos she's seen. Definitely smaller in person, but with the same shock of thick, dark brown hair that's currently resembling something close to bedhead, same shiny labret piercing, same heavy-lidded eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Honestly, Sara would be into her if she didn't feel weird about all the similarities between them.

Tegan glances around the place, cracking a smile. “It’s nice,” she offers, sensing Sara’s discomfort. “And again, thank you. I can’t tell you enough—”

“—It’s fine,” Sara interrupts, “Really. No trouble.”

Now that they’re here, she feels like a balloon with the air let out. It’s as if a bright, shining star is inside her apartment, and it has never looked more drab to her in contrast. The light yellow walls are dim in the fading light, and her potted plant is looking just a bit sad today. Sara feels embarrassed. But she finds it hard to resist helping someone in need, and after all, she had practically been begged.

The subject of her anxiety taps at her phone, muttering, “Ugh, they’re still stuck.”

“Your driver?”

Tegan closes her eyes. “This could take a while. I’m really, really sorry, Sara.”

It’s the second time she’s said her name, but it seems more real now that they’re in her home—like they _know_ each other. Sara can’t get over it.

“It’s okay. I’m happy to help,” she says quickly. “Can I get you anything? Water, or a Coke? Or wine?”

Wine? Why the hell did she say that? Come on, Sara. Remember how to act normal.

“Oh, water would be great.”

Sara quickly grabs them both glasses and they take a seat at the table. When the small task is finished, she has no idea what to say next.

“So,” Tegan begins, daintily sipping the water, “Since I’m already intruding on your personal space, I hope you’ll forgive me for asking a few questions about…this,” she says, pointing between their two faces.

Oh, God. Tegan must hate her.

“Um, yeah. Well, when I found out about you, I obviously had a few questions for my mom,” Sara replies, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “I’m not adopted or anything, I’ve seen proof.”

“I’m not either, as far as I know.” Tegan frowns. She’s silent for a moment as she thinks, twisting the plain silver rings around the fingers of her right hand. Sara's no expert, but they seem expensive, just like everything about her, from her soft-looking grey t-shirt to her perfectly draping jogger pants. “I’m sorry, I had to ask, you know, make sure,” Tegan adds apologetically.

“No, no, I don’t blame you. But I’m sure you’re relieved. That would look pretty bad for your career, right? Secret twin sister turns up out of the blue and claims Tegan Quin shunned her or something?”

Tegan giggles. “Yeah, something like that.”

Sara can’t help but smile back. “It’s pretty insane that we ended up meeting,” she admits. “I didn’t think I’d ever have a conversation about this with, you know, _you_.”

“Shut up. I’m just a person,” Tegan scoffs. Yeah, Sara’s heard that one before. Stars, they’re just like us. "The resemblance really is something, though," Tegan eyes her.

When she says nothing, her guest changes the subject. “Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

She seems genuinely interested, but Sara figures that she’s just desperate for conversation and there’s hardly a number of options.

“Yeah, you saw it. I wash and fold towels. Nothing glamorous,” she crinkles her nose. “I’m saving up to go to a state school.”

“That’s awesome! What do you want to study? And do you know where you wanna go?”

Encouraged by the enthusiastic response, Sara thinks over her honest answer, tugging at her ponytail. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe English? I’ve only just started looking at the different programs at UCLA and UC Berkeley.”

“Cool. I didn’t go to school, but sometimes I wish I could have,” Tegan sighs.

“Um, I think you did okay, considering…though I certainly don’t envy your, uh, experiences with paparazzi,” Sara blurts.

Oh, no—why did she say that? Is she going to be mad Sara brought it up again? She could die right here.

But a playful fire has ignited in the singer’s eyes. “Fucking tell me about it. So today, I was on my way back from a doctor’s appointment, and was like, oh, I’ll get a drink. I had them go to this place that’s so good, Joe the Juice—I dunno if you know it—”

Sara takes in this new quick, excited tone of Tegan’s. She’s seen her use it when she speaks passionately about LGBTQ and other social issues; the storyteller quality has the effect of making people hang on to her every word. Like Sara is doing now.

Anyway, Joe the Juice is the name of a juice bar a few blocks away from her gym, and though she can’t afford it, she walks by every day on her way in to work. She nods.

“—And I’m kicking myself, because I made a rookie mistake, which is to go without makeup in the middle of promoting a new single, but my manager was distracted and didn’t notice we were pulling over, so she didn’t stop me and then they just pounced—”

“—Does that happen a lot?” Sara asks before she can help herself. “I mean, I know they’re the scum of the earth, but to make you have to run and hide like that?”

Tegan winces. “Yes, they are, but I made it worse this time. Shots of people where they look like shit are worth a ton more money,” she explains. “Therefore, they were hungrier than usual.”

Then she grins. “I just wish I’d gotten far enough to grab the drink,” she says jokingly, lifting her empty glass in the air. “So thanks again for this.”

Sara feels a jolt of sadness when she realizes that Tegan can't even get a snack without being borderline assaulted. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, no matter how obnoxious a famous person he or she may be.

“That sucks. I’m sorry,” Sara tells her, not knowing what else to say. She can’t imagine.

“It’s okay. It usually doesn’t happen, but like I said, I wasn’t thinking and the circumstances kind of just aligned.” Tegan traces the rim of her glass with one fingertip. “If nothing else, I’m glad I got to meet you,” she says kindly.

Huh. It would seem that Tegan Quin is not so cocky as she appears in the media. Sara drums her fingers on the table, waiting to see if there are more questions.

“Oh, do you play?” Tegan asks, spotting Sara’s guitars and keyboard in the corner of the living room where they stand.

“Just for fun. When I have time,” Sara mumbles, turning red. A real live musician is sitting in her kitchen and it's making her feel so, so small. “Trust me, I’m not amazing.”

“That’s great. What do you like to play?”

God, she may as well get it all out there. “Mostly covers. Some of your stuff, actually,” Sara says shyly. “I love your new song, ‘Closer’.”

If Tegan picks up on the fact that she accidentally let the word “mostly” slip—Sara will truly cease to exist right here and now if she’s forced to talk about songwriting—she doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Thanks! That means a lot. I’m really proud of it.”

“No, uh, thank you. I mean, it’s great. It had to be fun to write…?” Sara has thought about the song a lot recently, but of course she’s drawing a blank at the moment when it comes to saying anything intelligent about it.

Tegan laughs. “Yeah, I wrote it in about half an hour. It just hit me.” She pauses, her tone changing. “If only the rest of the album would come so easily.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not to be dramatic, but I’ve got an awful case of writer’s block.” Tegan drags one hand down her cheek. “I’ve tried everything. Meditating, hiking, going to the beach—usually being near the ocean does the trick—but it just won’t come.”

Sara cocks her head, considering. For the first time, she notices that beyond the whole stars-without-makeup-thing, Tegan looks truly worn out. The bags under her eyes are huge.

So she suggests the only advice that comes to mind. “Sounds like you could use a break.”

“Ha, unfortunately, that's not an—”

Tegan freezes.

“What’s wrong?” Sara frowns.

The woman is silent for long enough that Sara starts to get uncomfortable again. She guesses that the jig is up. Tegan Quin has probably just realized that she’s wasted half an hour talking to some pitiful fan inside her crappy apartment. She’s definitely going to run away screaming, right about now. Sara looks at the door, ready to see her out.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Tegan finally says. “Absolutely insane. But…”

Curiosity gets the best of Sara. “What is it?”

“Okay. We switch places, you and I.”

Sara’s eyes widen into saucers. Not what she’d been expecting. “Are you—”

“—Yes, crazy, I know. Like I said. But hear me out,” Tegan urges.

For the umpteenth time that day, Sara Clement is speechless. 

“You’ll be me, for a little while, and I’ll get the time to figure out why I can’t write,” Tegan proposes. “I’m still on hiatus, technically, so there won’t be a ton to do, and I’ll walk you through everything.”

When Sara remembers how to speak, the next words from her mouth are not really what she’d intended them to be. “Excuse me for saying this, but why the hell would I agree to that? Seems a little selfish of you.”

“See, that sort of spunk is why this could work perfectly,” Tegan claps her hands. “You be me, I’ll be you, and it would be doing me a favor.”

Yep, she’s out of her mind.

“Huge favor, Tegan. The hugest!” Sara’s voice rises in pitch. “ _Be_ you? I could, like, literally screw up your life!”

“Calm down. You’ll do no such thing,” comes the stern reply. “I’ll help you with it all. It’ll be a little bit of press, a small photo shoot or two, nothing major. Like I said.”

“Okay, doing-you-a-favor aside, why should I risk this?” Sara wants to know. “If I mess up, you could sue me or whatever.”

Tegan shakes her head. “I wouldn't, and not just because it would be the worst scandal ever. I promise.”

Sara still isn’t convinced. “You barely know me!”

“I know, but I trust you—I can just feel it. Look, I can’t pay you without it potentially turning into a legal mess, but if it helps, I can absolutely give you a gift.”

“I don’t need concert tickets or anything,” Sara scowls. Is this chick for real?

“No, nothing like that. Though of course, you’re welcome to them,” Tegan tells her. “I was thinking I could pay for your school.”

This throws Sara for a loop. “What?”

“I know you’re close to your goal. But I would pay for any school—a private one if you wanted, and room and board. Then you could use the money you’ve saved for something else.”

That…certainly changes things. Sara Clement isn’t one for a handout, but this isn’t just charity—it’s different. It would be like a job. She allows herself to entertain the wacky idea for a moment. It _is_ a unique proposition. When it’s all over, she could really go away to school, in a different state, if she wanted. She would get the chance to live somewhere new, meet new people—maybe even meet a woman.

Apart from the tempting reward, this is also her chance to make something exciting happen to her for once. Her mom always says to take advantage of the most interesting opportunities, that when something falls into your lap—and this certainly did—it’s up to you to make the move.

“...I feel like this happened for a reason. Us looking the same, meeting this way. It's phenomenal. Will you at least think about it?” Tegan brings her from her contemplation.

“I have. I think it’s nuts,” Sara says.

“Oh.”

“How long would we need to switch for?” she adds.

Tegan’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, my God. So you’ll do it?”

What has she got to lose?

Sara takes a breath. “I’ll do it.”

 


	3. The Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Mel, who has graciously agreed to be my beta reader from here on out!

Despite part of her hoping the whole thing would be called off, Sara accepts an invitation to Tegan’s apartment so they can work out the details of their plan. Their insane, dangerous plan.

In the three days between their initial meeting and this one, Sara has had plenty of time to think about everything that could go wrong, because she hasn’t been wasting it doing stuff like, oh, sleeping.

After the short walk from the bus stop, she reaches the front door and Tegan buzzes her up to the penthouse (of course it's the penthouse). Sara counts down from ten to calm herself as she gets in the elevator. It doesn't really work, but whatever.

She can't help but raise her eyebrows when the elevator opens directly into the apartment, because she thought that only happened in movies. Then Sara supposes she should check her preconceived notions at the door, because since when has anything made sense lately?

Her hostess is waiting when she steps off, looking infuriatingly well rested. “Come on in,” Tegan grins, practically bouncing on socked feet.

Sara musters a smile of her own, but now that she's here, she feels like she's done something wrong—like she doesn’t belong. But there’s nothing to be afraid of, she tells herself. She's been invited to Tegan Quin's private residence for coffee and a chat, no big deal.

Ugh, who is she kidding?

Though Tegan is in dark jeans and a graphic tee, she wears them so well that Sara's own neatly ironed button down and skinny pants, carefully chosen for the occasion, suddenly seem inadequate. She can tell the singer is wearing eyeliner, too, and she's glad she made an effort with her own hair and makeup. She hopes to change Tegan's initial impression of her, because she's not happy about how when they met, Sara looked every inch like the sweaty towel girl that she is.

Pushing her insecurities aside, she takes in her surroundings for the first time, trying not to gawk at the place. Immediately, she fails at this.

They’re standing in an expansive kitchen with spotless black granite floors, stainless-steel appliances and cool wire light fixtures. After inquiring as to how she takes her coffee—black, thank you—Tegan grabs two steaming mugs and brings her to the living room. If that’s even the right word, because it’s honestly like four goddamn rooms in one.

Sara takes in the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows, leather couches and sleek black shelves filled with hundreds of records and books. As she looks around, she gets the feeling that Tegan’s furniture isn’t something that you can just walk into IKEA and buy. There's also a grand piano in one corner, and black and white photographs all over.

Whatever Sara had been expecting, it wasn’t this. It’s stunning, to say the least. Modern and welcoming at the same time and not at all "Hollywood", like the gaudy places she's seen in magazines. She likes to think that this is the taste she would have herself, if she could afford it.

“Your home is amazing,” Sara says, unable to help stating the obvious. She tries to picture living in such a breathtaking space.  
  
“Aw, thanks. I'll give you the full tour soon, but I figured you’d want to talk first,” Tegan suggests. They sit, and she hands Sara one of the cups. Sara breathes in the rich aroma before taking a sip. It's easily the best coffee she's ever tasted.  
  
“Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks for having me over,” she replies, glancing at the foggy view of Los Angeles. Even from a penthouse, the city still looks hazy, but Sara can't deny that even something as gross as LA smog somehow seems better from up high.  
  
“Not at all. I’m glad you’re here. I finally finished unpacking everything after the renovations,” Tegan explains, pointing at the shelves that line the expansive walls. "So the timing works out perfectly. This place was a mess."  
  
“Oh, I love to read,” Sara says conversationally, looking at the collection of books but not really believing that Tegan has bothered to even skim them.  
  
“Me, too. I have a lot of downtime on tour,” Tegan nods, sliding the fingers of one hand through the handle of her mug. “I'm going to need another shelf soon, because I have a terrible habit of holding on to books even after I've read them. I should donate them, right?"

She seems genuine, and Sara kicks herself for continuing to make assumptions.  
  
“No, that's great,” she says, taking another drink of coffee. Dammit, it's good. “What have you read recently that you liked?”  
  
They chat for a bit about books and music and whatnot, falling into an easy rapport. As they talk, Sara realizes that Tegan is…nice. She begins to get lost in the idea that something resembling friendship is beginning to blossom between them, but this is a dangerous line of thinking. In another life, maybe they would be friends, but she reminds herself that that’s not what they’re here for.

Soon, the conversation turns personal as Sara is asked about her friends, ex-girlfriends, her past. When Sonia is brought up, something akin to longing flashes across Tegan's face, but it's gone before Sara can be sure. Later, when she asks the popstar to share a little about her own childhood and family, Sara doesn't miss how she glosses over most of it.

As the morning wears on, Sara chooses her words carefully, feeling very much like she's being quizzed. It gets easier, though, when she thinks of it like a job interview. In between Sara's answers, Tegan offers information about the routine that comes with promoting a single, and the various people that work for and with her. Sara's mind boggles at the amount of activities and people that she's expected to keep track of. Interviews. Photo shoots. Radio performances. Assistants. Publicists. Label people. Part time staff that care for the apartment. It’s almost too much, and not for the first time, Sara wonders if she can really handle it.

Sara notes that Tegan's questions for her are surprisingly thoughtful, but she chalks her interest up to wanting the plan to go as smoothly as possible. Why else would Tegan care so much about where she grew up, or how her relationship with her mom is? It’s all pretty boring to her, compared to how dynamic Tegan's own life sounds like.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that neither wants to bring up the thing that they _should_ be discussing, Sara gathers the nerve and goes first.

“So,” she says softly, “I guess we should talk about how we’re gonna do this. The ‘switch’, I mean.”

It sounds just as ridiculous out loud as it does in her head, but what else is she supposed to call it?

Tegan swallows. “Yup, I’ve been thinking over the past few days, and I have some ideas.”  
  
Sara feels relieved that she’s taking the lead. “I’m listening.”  
  
“Some of it's easy. For starters, we’ll both have to change our hair,” Tegan says matter-of-factly. “You’ll get yours colored and cut, and I’ll go blonde.”  
  
“Right. Sorry about that," Sara grimaces.  
  
“Please, don't be. It's no big deal. I'll probably need you to dye it, though, because I won't be able to go to a salon or anything."

"Yeah, of course. I do mine at home, anyway. We'll just need to grab some dye, but I think I already have bleach."

Tegan looks thoughtful. "Then with my piercing, you obviously don’t need to get one done—we can just tell people I took it out. It’s kind of convenient that you have that there,” she taps the area beneath her lip, referring to what happens to be Sara’s old chicken pox scar, “Because it could pass as a hole if you don’t look too closely.”  
  
“Good idea. We can just say it healed over or something,” Sara agrees. “What else?”  
  
Tegan looks sheepish. “The other thing is…"

"Uh, oh. Spit it out."

"...You'll have to live here. And I’ll stay at your apartment.”

Sara had a feeling this would have to happen, but her stomach still does a stadium-sized flip.  
  
“Why can’t we…stay at our own places?” she asks, thinking of her apartment across town. It was the familiar reprieve she’d been planning to count on to help her get through all of this. Tegan doesn’t live in a gated community, so no one would notice, right?

“Or could we be in one place together? A hotel or something?”

“Unfortunately, I think it would be too obvious if you keep living where you are. People will spot ‘me’ in your neighborhood and start asking questions,” Tegan reasons. “And we can’t both stay somewhere, in case we’re seen at the same time. This way, it'll be easier for you to have access to my clothes and stuff, too."

“I guess that makes sense,” Sara mutters. She'll panic about it later, in the comfort of her own home. Which, apparently, it will not be for long.

Then something else occurs to her. “Oh, shoot, my job at the gym. I guess I’ll have to quit?" Sara tries to hide her thrill at the prospect. She'd be fine never looking at another towel again, honestly.

Tegan shakes her head. “No, I can finish it out, no problem. How much longer did you have there?”  
  
“About another month. But you don’t have to—”  
  
“No, I want to. I want the full Sara Clement experience,” Tegan grins. “No shortcuts.”  
  
“If you’re sure.” Sara suppresses a smirk, because Tegan Quin, a towel girl? She gives her two days.  
  
“Yeah, and in between, I’ll try to write,” Tegan adds, reminding her of the main point of the plan. “Again, I can’t thank you enough.”  
  
Sara had almost forgotten that Tegan is getting something out of this, too. She figures that’s better than shipping off to rehab.

They share a comfortable silence before something seems to dawn on Tegan.  
  
"Oh, fuck. The tattoos,” she says, gesturing between Sara’s arms and her own bare ones. “What are we going to do about the those?”  
  
They look at each other. Sara shrugs. “I guess you were busy over the hiatus.”  
  
The idea that Tegan would suddenly decide to completely ink up is so ludicrous that it makes them burst out laughing. It feels nice, and Sara allows herself to feel more joyful than she has in a while.  
  
Still grinning, Tegan reaches out to turn Sara's arm over and admire the designs. "My manager is gonna freak."

Sara frowns. “Wait, won’t she know, though? Don’t you see each other a lot?”

God, why did she think this was ever going to work?

"Hold on." Tegan pauses, considering. “I’ve only seen her once or twice over the past month, and I’m almost positive I wore long sleeves each time,” she purses her lips. “It will look suspicious, but I don’t think she’d really be able to prove otherwise. Then I've actually got a new assistant starting in a few days, so she won't have any idea.'”  
  
“Okay,” Sara says dubiously. The ship tattoo on her right arm took months to complete, but if Tegan isn’t worried about people figuring it out, then she won’t press the issue.  
  
“Another thing,” Tegan says gravely, making Sara feel an inkling of dread, “And this is a big one. You play guitar, right?”  
  
Sara nods hesitantly. Where is she going with this?  
  
“What about singing?"

Okay, Tegan did not mention that the other day. There would be performing involved? Sara feels A) stupid for not thinking of that earlier and B) just a teeny bit miffed that Tegan didn't lead with this information.

Sara's heart drops to her feet, fear surely written all over her face.

In turn, Tegan knits her brow. "We can get around it if we absolutely have to, but it would be tricky," she says, biting her lip as she looks around for her iPhone.

Sara can't speak. This is so unfair.

"I have a few in studio appearances, for ‘Closer’ promo, and a Pride thing scheduled,” Tegan quickly reads from her phone. “I guess I don’t have to play for those, actually, but do I have to sing.”

“Uh,” Sara regains control of her vocal chords. “You need me to sing?”  
  
“Closer” is the first single off the yet untitled record, which doesn’t even have a release date (and now Sara knows why), but all that means is that fans are even more obsessed with the song, hungry for a taste of new material. She knows Tegan promised not to sue her for impersonation or anything, but this might be going too far. Yep, here comes the queasiness.  
  
Tegan looks apologetic. “I know, I'm sorry. But it’s kind of what I do. You said you know some of my songs…?” Sara can tell she’s trying to ask, without being rude, for her to sing something. Her first real test, she supposes.

She has to do it.

“Yes, I really loved the most recent album,” she says, stalling for time. It’s true; _Heartthrob_ is one of her favorite records. It was the soundtrack to her last breakup.  
  
Encouraged by the compliment, Tegan’s face brightens. “Cool. Why don’t you show me whatcha got and give me a few bars? No judgments,” she says, raising her palms in the air.

Then Sara gets it: she has to. She doesn't have a choice. It would ruin the whole thing if she refused.

“Right now?”  
  
“No, when you get on stage in front of the crowd.” Tegan gives her an eyeroll. “Yeah, right now. Don’t be shy!”  
  
Sara nods, takes a deep breath and prays she doesn’t make a total fool of herself. She has the suspicion that she’s auditioning for the role of a lifetime, and there are no second chances.

Upon her hesitation, Tegan smiles in an encouraging manner.

“Does your heart ache when you get around me?” Sara begins after a moment, trying her best to imitate Tegan’s inflection from the recording. She’s certainly heard the song enough, singing into her hairbrush on more than one occasion that would be embarrassing if anyone had witnessed it. “Does your heart break when you think about me?”  
  
As her voice reverberates in the spacious room, Sara closes her eyes, allowing the song to take over.  
  
“Now you wanna say, I was a liar  
Led you astray, I won’t deny it  
I did what they thought would be good for me  
Now you wanna cry, call me a cheater  
Left you to die, though I did neither  
Thought that it would, that it would be best for me  
Do you cry? Oh, do your worst  
Do you talk? Oh, do your worst  
I couldn’t be your friend even if I tried again  
I couldn’t be your friend  
Try to conceal it, I won’t believe it  
Even if I tried again  
I couldn’t be your—”  
  
Suddenly, there’s a pair of skinny arms squeezing the air out of her, causing Sara to stop in the middle of the line.  
  
“Thank God!” Tegan screeches, releasing her from the tight hug. Jesus, the woman is deceptively strong. “Holy shit, Sara, you can sing!”  
  
She blinks in surprise. “You really think so?”  
  
Tegan looks incredulous. “Um, yes, girl. You’re actually spectacular. You can’t tell me you don’t know that. A few lessons, and you’ll be perfect.”  
  
“You don’t feel like my voice is pitched too high?” Sara worries. Knowing the words and being on key is one thing, but truly _sounding_ like Tegan seems impossible.  
  
“Maybe a little, but not in a bad way. And I don’t think it’ll make a big difference, especially since you’ll have the track behind you,” Tegan shakes her head. “That was really something, though. It was like listening to a mirror, if that makes sense.”  
  
Sara really does not believe her life right now. She's just glad she didn't fuck that up. “I…thank you,” she stammers.  
  
“Yep, I’m impressed.” Tegan closes her eyes. “So we covered the hair, the singing...oh, shit.”  
  
"What, 'oh shit'?"  
  
Her eyes fly open. "You have to break up with LB."  
  
Sara comes down from the Tegan-Quin-complimented-me cloud real quick.  
  
"Are you kidding? You want me to dump your girlfriend for you? I can't do that." No way in hell.  
  
Sara knows about LB, or Lindsey Byrnes, rather. She'd have to live under a rock not to. LB is the Annie Leibovitz of Young Hollywood, meaning that she photographs anyone under the age of thirty who matters. Tegan matters, and as the story goes, the two had met on a shoot a few years ago—a shoot that took days to complete because the photographer and her subject kept hooking up in the dressing room.  
  
Sara's knowledge on the subject is mainly informed by splashy tabloid spreads, but the general narrative is that Tegan and LB are on-and-off more than Rihanna and Drake. Meaning, they fight as constantly as they fuck.  
  
Tegan shakes her head frantically, causing her short hair to fly back and forth. "No, no, you have to. What are you going to do, have sex with her? She'll figure it out immediately."

Tegan had said the switch wouldn't last more than a month or so. Surely she could go that long without seeing her girlfriend? The nausea rises in Sara again.

She sets down her empty mug. "But...what about you guys? Like, your relationship?"

Tegan looks way less bothered than she should. "I've been meaning to do it anyway. I'm kind of over her.”  
  
Sara can't believe she'd give up that quickly. They were Tegan-and-LB, for God's sake. They didn't go anywhere without each other, and now Sara was supposed to split up one of the world's most famous couples?  
  
"I..." she doesn’t know what to say.  
  
"Look, it'll be shitty when it comes out, for sure,” Tegan soothes, “But we'll get through it together, okay? Don't worry.”  
  
Sara is not convinced, but she remembers what she's in this for. _New town. Good education. Better life. Someone to share it with._ "Okay. I guess," she concedes.  
  
“Yay! It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see,” Tegan beams.  
  
As she smiles weakly in return, Sara has to wonder. What has she gotten herself into?

 


	4. The Makeover

Sara and Tegan decided it would be best to get going as soon as possible, so it’s only a day later that Sara finds herself at one of the most expensive—and apparently very exclusive—salons in LA. Only grossly important people can get an appointment so last minute, and in fact, that’s what it had taken to get Sara in here.  
  
Tegan had had someone call and make an appointment for her “cousin”, then warned Sara to prepare to spend hours at the salon. The plan was for her to have her hair dyed, cut and styled exactly like Tegan’s…all without rousing suspicion.  
  
Which seemed impossible to Sara at first, until Tegan reminded her that she'd been photographed just days ago during the Juice Run Disaster, so Sara wouldn't have an issue proving her own identity if it came down to it.

This did not do much to ease her anxiety.  
  
Anyway, here they are. Sara grips the edges of a soft leather chair as a woman (who isn’t being as gentle as she’d prefer) shampoos her long hair. She takes deep breaths to calm her frantic thoughts, convincing herself that this is still a good idea.  
  
“Okay, you’re all set. Follow me, Liz,” the shampoo lady announces a few minutes later, using the random pseudonym Tegan had picked.  
  
When she’s settled in the chair, Sara is introduced to a colorist, which unfortunately means that she probably has to start talking.  
  
“Hi there. Liz, right?"

“Uh huh. Hi.”  
  
“I’m Dakota. It's great to meet you," the woman says warmly. "What are we doing today?”

“Um,” Sara tugs nervously at the wrist of her long-sleeved shirt, because hiding her tats is mandatory until she becomes “Tegan”.

“My cousin thought it would be, you know, funny, if we got the same hairstyle…the same color and cut and whatever,” she rambles. “That’s why she made the appointment for me?”  
  
It’s a weak explanation at best, but the colorist meets her eye with a knowing twinkle. “Of course. We love having Ms. Quin here,” she whispers. “I actually thought for a moment that you were her—the family resemblance is certainly uncanny. Let’s take a look.”  
  
Sara holds her breath as the woman, Dakota, examines her damp locks.  
  
“Well, it’s funny, but your roots are actually the same color,” she muses. “I’ll just mix the base shade going off that, and naturally, we’ve already got the formula for Ms. Quin’s highlights. Or did you want to stop at the base?”  
  
"No,” Sara says quickly, “Let’s do it all. The highlights, everything.” It has to be perfect.  
  
“Okay, then,” Dakota walks away after another wink, and Sara exhales a sigh of relief.  
  
Hours later, she's feeling a bit dizzy from the chemicals, but Dakota finally removes the last of the foils with a pleased grin. Sara raises her eyebrows—there are her long, damp locks hanging past her shoulders like usual, except now she’s a brunette, which hasn’t been true since she was in the ninth grade. She’s surprised how defined her features seem now, the darker hue somehow making her jawline and cheekbones pop. Her eyebrows, too. Hmm.  
  
“There we go,” Dakota beams.  
  
“Thank you,” Sara smiles shyly. “It’s great.” Then she frowns, because she’s not out of the woods yet, even though her stomach is rumbling like something else. And she’s still a little woozy from the smell of the dye.  
  
“I’ll go grab Bruno for you for the cut,” the woman adds. “It was so great to meet you, Liz!”  
  
“You too.”  
  
About a minute later, a stylishly dressed man swoops into the station. “Lizzie, my dear,” he booms as if they’ve known each other for years, immediately grabbing her hair to turn it over in his hands, “It is a pleasure. I’ve heard we’re going after a certain someone’s look today, yes?”  
  
“Um, yeah.”  
  
Bruno meets her eyes in the mirror, gaze intent. “Are you _quite_ sure that you’re cousins?” he asks incredulously, brow raised. “And not Ms. Quin herself, trying to pull one over on me?”  
  
Sara forgets how to breathe. What is she supposed to say to that? But she has to keep her cool.  
  
“I’m just kidding,” the hairstylist bursts out in a laugh. “Don’t let me scare you. Let’s get started!”  
  
He spins the chair so Sara is no longer facing her reflection, offering a final warning. "One more time—you're okay with me taking about eight inches off?”  
  
Sara swallows, but nods her consent. No going back now.  
  
Bruno grabs the scissors. As massive sections of her hair fall to the ground, making her wonder if the guy is leaving any on her actual head, Sara attempts to distract herself with her usual fantasy: living in a distant city, attending a good school and making a name for herself. Soon, she thinks.  
  
What seems like both seconds and years later, the blowdryer stops whirring, and Bruno spritzes her head with product and a hum of finality, bringing Sara out of her trance.  
  
“Oh, my,” he chuckles, looking her over. Sara’s heart squeezes.  
  
“What is it?” she asks nervously. Oh, God, is it all screwed up? This is why she cuts her own hair. Well, that, and she can’t really afford regular salon trips, but still.  
  
He turns the chair back around, and Sara gets a good look in the mirror.  
  
“Oh.” She breathes.  
  
Staring back at her is, well...Tegan. If it was weird before, now it's downright freaky. Not only is the color spot on; it's the cut and amount of volume, too. Her newly short hair is thick and glossy like it's never looked, with bangs swooping sexily across her forehead. Sara gives it an experimental shake, and the piecey strands whip back and forth before settling in graceful layers. She looks like she just stepped off the video shoot for "Closer", minus the makeup.  
  
A thrill runs through her.  
  
Sure, the eyebrows are slightly different, and obviously she doesn't have a labret piercing, but damn it if her own mother wouldn't be fooled. Is it possible to be starstruck by one’s own self? Because she might be.  
  
"I think my work here is done," the stylist says with a proud smirk. "I'd, ah, be careful leaving the salon if I were you, Sweetie. Someone might think you were..."  
  
"Thank you, yes, someone's picking me up," Sara replies absentmindedly, unable to take her eyes off herself. Wow. A bit of makeup and she might actually be able to pull this off. Either way, she has a career as the front woman of a Tegan Quin cover band ahead of her. How has she never thought of this?  
  
With another smile and a firm handshake, Bruno leaves her to collect her things.

Sara pulls out her phone to text Tegan.  
  
Sara C: just finished at salon. U close?  
Tegan Q: yes in uber. 2 mins!! Can't wait 2 see!  
Sara C: lol prepare urself. I almost threw up when they finished  
Tegan Q: OMG that good huh?  
Tegan Q: we're out front!!  
  
After Sara checks out, she clutches the steel bar as she rides the elevator to the lobby, trying to steady herself. What if Tegan changes her mind about the whole thing when she sees her? But no, they have a deal. It's going to work out.  
  
Thankfully no one is around when she climbs into the Uber, and when she settles on the seat, Tegan lowers her sunglasses in awe.  
  
"Oh. My. Fucking. _God_."  
  
"I know, it's..."  
  
"Oh, wow."  
  
"I..."  
  
"You look _hot_ , Sara."  
  
"You're just saying that because I look like you now,” Sara eyerolls. She notices that Tegan’s taken her piercing out.  
  
"I mean, not that you weren't before, but Jesus. We might actually pull this off."  
  
Sara feels better than she has all day. "You really think so?"  
  
"Yes, definitely. Oh, man, this is gonna be great!" Tegan beams. “Wait, let’s take a pic.”  
  
She yanks her phone out, navigating to the front-facing camera. They take a few selfies together; making serious expressions at first before smiling normally. Then Sara widens her eyes and grimaces in such a way that Tegan collapses back on the seat, laughing.

"Send those to me," Sara commands through her own giggles.

When she gets her breath back, Tegan remembers the next item on their agenda. “Did you get the dye and stuff?”  
  
Sara holds up a CVS bag containing the blond boxes of dye she likes to use, bleach and rubber gloves. She’d stopped at the drugstore on her way to the appointment. “Yep, right here.”  
  
“Excellent."  
  
Back at the penthouse, Tegan puts an Arcade Fire album on her record player and heads to the kitchen to gather some snacks for them to munch on. Though they’ll be in the living room, the music pumps throughout the whole apartment from hidden speakers, and Sara moves to the lush beat as she gets down to business.  
  
She could dye her own hair in her sleep, but she’s undeniably nervous about possibly fucking up Tegan’s. Sara is, again, surprised that the other woman continues to trust her, despite them having just met. Pushing her doubts away, she carefully lays down a plastic shower curtain, shuddering at the thought of marring Tegan’s beautiful floor with even a drop of chemicals.  
  
“Here we go!” Tegan enters the room, armed with a bowl of vegetable chips, hummus and bottles of cold brew coffee. She sets the snacks down on a coffee table before dragging a sleek metal chair over.  
  
“Ugh, yes,” Sara replies, eyeing the snacks. She’s famished. Reaching over to dip a few chips, she surveys the materials on the table. Rubber gloves, check. Bleach, dye, check. Hair clips, Vaseline…

“I think we’re ready to go here,” she says through a mouthful.  
  
“Alright, let’s do it. Make me Blonde Sara,” Tegan says dramatically, taking a seat and draping a towel around her shoulders. She applies petroleum jelly to her hairline as Sara mixes the bleach and toner, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She then divides Tegan's short hair into sections, twisting them up and securing with pins. Sara feels herself start to relax as they sing along to the track playing.  
  
“These guys are so good,” Sara mentions, feeling the need to make conversation.  
  
“I know! One of my favorites. Win and I go way back,” Tegan smiles. “He actually helped write some of my earlier stuff.”  
  
“No kidding,” Sara says, marveling again at how cool her life is. Of course Tegan Quin and Win Butler are besties. If Britney Spears were to pop by to borrow a cup of sugar, Sara wouldn’t even blink.  
  
“Yeah, we’ll have you meet sometime. Maybe at my release party." Then Sara can hear the frown in her voice: “If that ever happens, of course.”  
  
Sara pauses in her application of the bleach, feeling sympathetic to the singer’s plight. “Don’t say that. It’s going to be great,” she replies in what she hopes is an encouraging fashion. “It’ll come.”  
  
Tegan swallows some of her coffee, taking care not to move her head too much. “God, I hope so. I would hate to make us go through this for nothing,” she mutters. “Especially you.”  
  
Though Tegan can't see her, Sara shakes her head. In the scheme of things, she's not blind to the fact that she has so much less to lose.

"Stop, I agreed to this," she says. "It’s going to be fine."

They're silent for a few minutes while Sara finishes up with the brush. “Okay, we just have to let the bleach sit for about twenty minutes."  
  
“Want to order food while we wait?” Tegan offers. “I’m starving.”  
  
They’ve polished off the chips, and Sara gratefully agrees.  
  
“If you're in the mood, there's a great Mexican place nearby that’s fast,” Tegan suggests.  
  
“That would be perfect. Do you want me to go…?” Sara cuts off, remembering her new appearance. “Oh.”  
  
Tegan giggles. “Yeah, I usually order in. We can do that.”  
  
“Right.” Sara feels foolish.  
  
After Tegan orders a bunch of stuff on Seamless, she tosses her phone aside and exhales a bit of air through her lips. “So. Are you nervous about tomorrow?”  
  
Nervous? About tomorrow? The day they’re going to officially switch? No, don't be silly.

  
Sara’s been studying up like she hasn’t since she had finals for a calculus class she took last year, doing her best to memorize the people on Tegan’s team and talking points for the single so she doesn’t sound like an idiot in interviews.

She’s also moved some of her things into one of Tegan’s spare bedrooms, where she insists on staying, despite being invited to use the master bedroom. That made it all feel very real.  
  
“A little bit. Can we go over the interview stuff again?”  
  
“Sure!" Tegan adopts what Sara assumes is supposed to be the look of an intent journalist.

"Okay, tell me about ‘Closer’,” she prompts, staring her in the eyes.  
  
Sara clears her throat. “I wanted to capture something undefined about young love,” she recites. “I intended to write something sweet that reminded the listener of a time before sex, complicated relationships, drama and heartbreak.”

She pauses for breath. “It’s also great to make out to,” she adds.  
  
Tegan chuckles at her ad-libbing. “So true,” she agrees, breaking character. "Nice. I like that.”  
  
Sara smiles a shy thank-you.  
  
“When can we expect the new album? Does it have a name yet?”  
  
Sara thinks for a moment. “Um, it’s currently untitled,” she says. “I’m writing as we speak, and it’s going really well. I'm very excited about it. Hopefully early next year.”  
  
Tegan winces, and Sara realizes that’s too soon. “I mean, late spring?”  
  
Her interviewer nods. Better.  
  
They trade more questions and answers for the next few minutes, then it’s time to rinse out the bleach. Sara mixes the dye while Tegan is in the bathroom, feeling a little better about interviews now that they’ve practiced. When she returns, Sara starts applying the dye. A few minutes later, her task is done, and she stretches a shower cap over Tegan’s locks.  
  
“Okay, if memory serves, now we wait 35 minutes for it to set in,” Sara says, glancing at the box to make sure she's right.  
  
“Sounds good. Oh, I think the food’s here,” Tegan says, glancing at her ringing cell phone. "Perfect timing."  
  
As she goes to answer the door, Sara takes the time to think of anything they haven’t been over yet.  
  
When Tegan returns with the bags of food, they eagerly dig in. “Want to go over the schedule?” Tegan asks with a full mouth, reading her mind.  
  
“That’d be great.”  
  
They both pull up the calendars on their phones, balancing the food in their laps. Fortunately, they have the same devices, so Tegan just had to do a quick data transfer, and now Sara has the contacts she needs, as well as the calendar. When they're apart, Tegan will screen her private emails and loop Sara in on anything she needs to know.  
  
“Okay. Tomorrow: workout, production meeting and intro to new assistant, lunch at LB’s, fitting and rehearsal for LA Pride,” Tegan rattles off. “Tuesday: workout, photo shoot and interview with _Rolling Stone_ , sound check, Pride carpet, performance, after party. Wednesday: workout, interview with _LA Times_ , label lunch, radio appearance…”  
  
As she goes on, Sara puts down the taco she’d been eating. Talking about the obligations out loud is effectively diminishing her appetite. She’s never thought about how much work musicians actually do—she’d kind of figured they write, sing, and pose for photos, the end. It's nothing she could have ever imagined, and she can’t deny that she has a newfound respect for Tegan.  
  
The more she learns, the more she has the feeling that Tegan is also more involved in her work than other artists. She's committed to her vision and really wants everything she does to be as close to perfect as possible, from her music to her philanthropy, and it shows.  
  
Sara will get through it, and she’ll do her best. She wants to. It’s the least that Tegan deserves from her. And though it’s not Sara’s place, part of her wants to make Tegan proud.  
  
“Look, I know it’s a lot,” Tegan is saying. Again, it's funny that they're on the same page. “You know you can always call me if you have a question; just find a closet to escape to or something. Oh—does your boss care if you talk on the phone at work?”  
  
Sara shrugs. “No, he doesn’t really mind what I do, honestly. As long as the towels are dealt with. So it should be fine."

"But I'll try not to bother you as much as possible," she adds after a beat. The idea is for Tegan to be able to take a break, after all. Calling her every second would defeat that purpose.  
  
They finish their meal, and Sara jumps up to clear the trash. She should be familiarizing herself with the place, anyway. Tegan excuses herself to shower.

“Hey, come in here,” Tegan eventually calls from her bedroom. Sara walks in to see her finishing up with the blowdryer, and her face breaks into a grin.  
  
“Oh, it looks great!” she says. The blond coloring came out really well—thank God. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she turned Tegan’s hair purple or something.

Then again, she’d probably work that perfectly.  
  
“Good job,” Tegan is pleased, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “You know, I actually kinda like this shade on myself.”  
  
Sara grins. “It’s a great disguise, if I say so myself. I don’t think anyone will think twice.”  
  
She walks over to the mirror to get a better look and has to suppress a gasp when she sees her own hair again. She doesn't think she'll ever be used to it. Obviously, the weirdness factor is doubled by Tegan's new look; it's like they've switched places.

Which she supposes is the point.

"Me neither. Okay, makeover time for real!" Tegan jumps up, tugging her toward the bathroom. "Let's get you dolled up."  
  
Well, Sara can't say no to that. She perches on the wide edge of the marble tub as Tegan opens giant drawers to reveal hundreds of shiny beauty products, pulling out makeup and brushes. She's never seen so much stuff outside of a Sephora.  
  
"There will be hair and makeup people for all of the bigger things, but the rest of the time you're on your own," Tegan explains while she clips Sara’s hair back, "So I'll give you my ‘everyday’ look now, and tell you what I'm doing as I go along. I usually start by filling in with this brow pomade…"

Sara struggles to pay attention as Tegan narrates her actions, but having her face lightly touched and brushed for minutes on end has the effect of making her drowsy.

"There we go!" Tegan exclaims, putting the cap back on the rosy lip color she'd applied.

  
Sara pokes her head around in interest, looking for the mirror, but Tegan pushes her shoulders back. "Nope, not yet. Clothes first," she says firmly. She stands Sara up and steers her to the closet.

As Tegan darts around the space, grabbing random articles off the hangers, Sara stares, wide-eyed, at the sheer volume of clothing and shoes. The "closet" is roughly the size of the main room in her studio, though it's not surprising at this point. Still...So. Many. Clothes.

"Okay, put these on." Tegan piles an oversized black t-shirt, a pair of leggings with sheer cutouts and a black leather jacket into her arms, along with patent platform sneakers. She whisks out of the room to give Sara privacy, and she does what she's told.

Everything fits, even the shoes, and as she adjusts the leggings, Sara feels very rockstar about the whole thing. She'd never have a reason to wear an outfit like this...until now, that is.

"How's this?" She calls, walking back out of the closet. Tegan is sitting cross-legged on the bed, engrossed in her phone. She looks up at the sound of Sara's voice.

"Oh, my god, yesss!" she screeches. "Okay, now you can see!"

She tugs Sara over to a huge mirror on the wall, and her jaw drops at the sight. Fortunately she had a trial run on getting a look at herself at the salon, because otherwise her stomach would fall right out of her body and down however many dozen floors to the basement.

It's easily the best she's ever looked, thanks to Tegan's expert makeup application and the cool outfit. The shirt skims her upper thighs, covering her up just enough to avoid being obscene, while the leggings make her legs look awesome. The shoes give her a nice few inches of extra height, and the weight of the leather on her shoulders is a foreign but not uncomfortable feeling.

She looks like...

Sara gives a disbelieving laugh. "Wow. So this is what it feels like to be you," she muses, looking over at what has to be her twin. There's no other explanation.

"Yeah. That's really all there is to it. Clothes, hair, face," Tegan shrugs. "Easy."

Sara turns a little, trying to peek at the back of her outfit. The leggings make her feel a little exposed, but she can't deny that it's a sexy look, period. "I think I could get used to this," she blurts.

Tegan grins. "Right?"

After a few more minutes of admiration, Sara changes into some comfy sleepwear. Since it's the last night before the switch, they decide to watch a movie and just kick back. She's amused to discover that Tegan has chosen _The Parent Trap_ for them to watch, and she loads the movie while her host goes to make them popcorn.

  
As Sara puts her socked feet up on the couch, she thinks that this might not be so bad overall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the hairstyle and outfit I envision Sara wearing in this chapter: http://imgur.com/a/d9G3X


	5. The Breakup

This is it.

This is the end. She's dying.

She had twenty-five good years on this planet and it's been a real pleasure, but her time is up.

Sara's heart pounds steadily as she accepts her fate, ready to welcome death's embrace before it swoops her off to the great unknown.

"Eight more! You can do it!"

Tegan's trainer is yelling encouragingly at her like she's been doing for the past hour or so, but all Sara can think about is how the burn in her muscles is threatening to drag her under to a place from which she surely will never return. The sweat pours from all over, soaking through her hair, her clothes, everything, really.

She lets out short, gasping breaths as she finishes the reps, then collapses onto the mat.

"Okay, that's enough for today," the trainer laughs, hands on her spandex-clad hips. "Not bad at all. But that's what you get for not keeping up over the hiatus!"

From where she's lying facedown on the mat, Sara can only groan in response.

She's never considered herself fit, so to say, but she exercises pretty regularly at the gym where she's employed. Now she knows that it was nothing—a wasted effort—compared to Tegan's grueling workout. She may as well have been lifting pool noodles before.

After getting up at the ass crack of dawn and being tortured until every bone in her body was on fire, Sara has surmised that she only got through what had to be military-grade exercises using will power alone. After all, she couldn't let Tegan down so soon.

A dry towel hits the back of Sara's neck, which she guesses is her cue to get up and stop wasting the trainer's time. Somehow, she musters the energy to say goodbye, gather her poor sweaty self and make her way to the showers at the back of the private studio.

She undoes her tiny ponytail and strips the wet sports bra, tank and yoga crops from her aching body with fumbling fingers, clumsily stepping into the shower. She sighs with relief when the cool spray finally hits her form, washing over her inflamed skin.

Sara sinks into her thoughts, mulling over the rest of the day's activities. Next is a meeting with her "team", which is also when she's supposed to meet the new assistant. Then lunch with Lindsey. Sara is not looking forward to  _that_ conversation. For the millionth time, how on earth is she supposed to do the breaking up for someone?

Reaching up to rinse the shampoo out of her hair, she runs through a few possible scenarios.

_Hi, Lindsey. Despite the fact that we just went down on each other in the bathroom of Delilah's at Katy Perry's birthday party last week, I think we should break up._

_Lindsey, it's over between us, even though I'm not really sure what we had, because I'm not the one you've actually been with._

_Hey, LB, I'm done with this relationship, but let me introduce you to my cute friend Sara..._

Ugh, she is so screwed.

* * *

  
"Hey, everyone. I hope you had a nice couple of days off."

Sara addresses the small group of people—her people—sitting around the table, trying not to act as awkward as she feels. Each person is dressed stylishly, appearing to have stepped out of a magazine for the effortlessly cool, and they seemingly have attitudes to match. It’s all a bit intimidating. She's supposed to be the boss here, but dammit, everyone's staring at her!

Oh, right. Because she's the one talking.

"I'd like to welcome Stacy Reader to the team," she continues, directing her attention towards the new assistant, who sits at one end of the table. As she says her name, Sara makes eye contact for the first time.

And freezes.

Stacy Reader, as it turns out, is slim and blonde, and Sara’s eyes glance appreciatively at her professional outfit. A black blazer and dark button-down shirt, nice. She’s always liked a woman in a suit. But back to her face, where thick lashes frame bright blue eyes, and rosy lips are pressed in an expectant smile. Sara tries not to stare too much longer than necessary at her, but this proves to be difficult, on account of her extreme prettiness and the way she’s looking back at her just as intently and—

God, she needs to get laid.

Embarrassingly enough, it’s Stacy who breaks their gaze first, and when she speaks, she doesn't sound nervous at all. "Hi, guys," she smiles. “I'm excited to come aboard.”

The group murmurs their encouragement.

“I just moved from New York, so I’m still finding my way around. But I can't wait to work with you all, and get to know you,” she adds.

“Yes, we’re happy to have you,” Sara smiles.

“Thanks! Oh, and I know I'm here to support you, Tegan, but if there's anything I can do to help you guys, too, just ask," Stacy nods, looking around the table.

Introductions are made to the new girl, and Sara is secretly grateful for the refresher. She's still getting used to putting names to faces.

When the chatter dies down, Sara notices that Tegan’s manager slash publicist, Amy, is looking at her with a frown. "Tegan—your piercing," she starts. "You took it out?"

Sara shrugs. "Yeah, my dentist told me it was gonna start causing problems," she tells the group nonchalantly, sticking to the story she and Tegan had come up with. "I figured it was time."

Some of them exchange looks, but seem to accept this answer, and the meeting goes on.

The talk turns to business and they go over the week's schedule and whatnot. Sara perks up at the more familiar topics, her confidence growing. She begins jumping in more.

But after a time, her stomach starts rumbling, and she looks at her phone with a jolt when she realizes how late it is. They’ve been talking about her “silhouette” for Pride for a good fifteen minutes, and she figures now is a good time to interject.

"Hey. Let's wrap this up, so we can all get going," she says, dreading what's coming with Lindsey. She just wants to get on with it.

When the room vacates, Sara’s stomach jumps when she realizes she’s left alone with Stacy, who has been mostly silent over the course of the meeting except to take notes. Oh, if only she knew that Sara was just as in the dark about everything, though she is not afforded the opportunity to jot down her own thoughts, because doing so would make her seem confused.

Which she is. Whatever.

"How's it going?" Sara asks, mustering a friendly smile as she gathers her stuff and sneaks a look from the corner of her eye. God, there’s no way that shade of blonde is natural. It’s too rich and shiny and has too many different shades of honey and it is not at all distracting to Sara.

When Stacy replies, though, her tone makes Sara pause. "Great, thank you. But I just have a question."

"Uh...sure. Go for it."

"What's that?"

Stacy is pointing at Sara's wrist, where her jacket sleeve has ridden up to expose some of the ink beneath. Sara can tell by something in her voice that she’s been sitting on this for a while now, but waited until now to bring it up.

Whoops.

"Oh. This. It’s a tattoo. I got it a while back," Sara says vaguely. Stacy's brow furrows, but she nods. Her eyes move back to Sara's wrist, curious.

Sara knows that if Stacy is as good an assistant as she seems to be, then she will have done her research, and would know what Tegan looks like sleeveless. Best to get it over with.

"Here, I might as well show you," Sara sighs, reaching up to unzip her jacket. She removes it, and Stacy's large brown eyes widen a fraction at the tattoos covering her arms, but she doesn't press for an explanation.

"Does Amy know?" she asks instead.

"Not yet," Sara winces.

But Stacy doesn't blink. "Do you want me to tell her?"

"Oh my God, yes, that'd be great," Sara says before she can help herself. She has no idea if things like these are even within Stacy's job description. Oh, screw it. "She should probably hear before the fitting this afternoon," Sara adds, thinking out loud.

"No problem, Ms. Qui—oh, you told me to call you Tegan in our interview," Stacy giggles, brushing a strand of that stupid honey colored hair out of her eyes as she makes the correction.

Sara hates herself for the tingle she feels at the sound of that laugh.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything," she offers, hoping to hell that she's not blushing.

Stacy smiles. "I will. Thank you again for the opportunity," she says. Sara gestures for her to follow, and they begin walking out together. "I'm really excited."

"No, I'm glad. I'll see you in a few hours?" Sara has rehearsal at the West Hollywood Park, and will try on outfits beforehand, according to her day sheet.

"Yes, of course. I'll meet you there," Stacy nods.

"Ok, sounds good. Bye," Sara waves, climbing into her waiting car. Jesus, she’s sweaty. Goddamn long sleeves.

Putting Stacy Reader out of her mind, she exchanges pleasantries with the driver and relaxes against the leather seat, thinking she'll probably never get used to being chauffeured around, even for stuff like having lunch at people's houses. Then again, this isn't just any person: it's Lindsey Byrnes. And now she has to end things, though they've never technically met. Sara shakes her head at the utter lunacy of the situation.

As the driver navigates the awful LA traffic, she pulls out her phone, checking random apps before deciding to look at Tegan's Wikipedia page again. She's been studying up every spare moment she gets, and this is one of them. Her eyes hover over the birthdate listed: September 12, 1992. So she’s about a year younger than Sara, whose birthday is also in September, but on the 19th. Good to know.

She idly scrolls through the rest of the page, snorting at the mention of Tegan's past relationships with Cara Delevingne and Kristen Stewart, not to mention a rumored thing with St. Vincent...

The car eventually pulls up to a fancy apartment building, and Sara checks the time on her phone with a small groan. They're ten or so minutes behind, and she hates being late. But before she has time to berate herself further, the device in her hand rings, and Lindsey's grinning face appears on the screen.

"Hey, I'm outside," she says quickly before the other woman can speak. "There was traffic, sorry."

LB’s voice is cheerful on the other end. "No worries. Do you have your key? Or do you need me to buzz you?"

Tegan has a _key_ to her place? Oh, for fuck’s sake. That’s basically marriage. This is bad.

"Um, I think I forgot it in my other bag," Sara fibs. "Can you let me up?"

"Yup, see you in a sec!"

The door opens, and Sara stands in the lobby, blinking when she realizes she has no idea which apartment Lindsey lives in.

Oh—the mailboxes! Of course. Sara darts to the side of the hallway, combing her eyes over the list of residents in the building that hangs on the wall. Lindsey Byrnes, 2C.

She climbs the stairs, her stomach somersaulting with each step, though it probably has something to do with her ravenous hunger, too. She only hopes that their conversation is delayed long enough for them to get to eat.

Priorities.

Sara reaches the landing and knocks softly on the door, which promptly flies open with a high-pitched squeal.

"Hi, baby!"

Before she can even utter one word of response, a blondish blur has attached itself to her body, and suddenly there's a pair of hands on her hips and lips on her own, pulling her into a passionate kiss whether she likes it or not.

Sara's mind goes blank for a moment as she adjusts to the shock of being A) kissed, B) by a woman, and C) not just any woman, but Lindsey Byrnes. Whoa.

After a beat, her idiot body reacts and kisses LB back. But who could blame her? The woman had leapt at Sara as if she were the most important person on earth. It felt nice.

When her brain kicks back into gear, she yanks herself away, eyes wide. She can't be making out with Tegan's girlfriend right before they break up!

Lindsey doesn't notice her hasty retreat. "I missed you," she beams, arms still around Sara's neck. "Come inside!"

She's dragged into the apartment, and her eyes dart around, taking in the sleek, artsily-decorated space. Sara is reminded of the beautiful photos hanging in Tegan’s living room, and wonders if they were done by Lindsey. Probably.

Lindsey has snaked herself around Sara’s body again, but as she’s leaning in for another round, Sara clears her throat loudly.

“Wait. Let’s um, catch up,” she says, gently removing LB’s hands with her own. “Here, can we sit?”

Lindsey’s brow furrows at the rejection, but she nods. “Okay. Sure. Just lemme grab drinks,” she says. Sara takes a seat on the couch, leaning her head back against the cushions as LB disappears from the room. She really doesn’t want to prolong her mission, which won’t be easy.

She tries to look alive as her hostess returns with two beers.

"Tegan, babe, have you been eating? You're looking a little thin," LB says, eyeing her as she hands one over and sits down.

Sara tugs at her jeans with a frown. Some of Tegan's clothing is slightly loose on her, it's true, but Lindsey has been the first to notice. Sara figures it won't be like that for long if she keeps gorging herself like she has—not that she can help it, because the food Tegan can get is so much better quality than what she's used to. After today’s deadly workout, for example, she'd ordered in a huge breakfast at the apartment and devoured it all in a record amount of time.

"Um, yeah, I'm just stressed lately," she deflects, reaching up to tug on her ponytail out of habit. Her hand meets air and she quickly lowers it. “You know, the album and stuff. I am, I promise.”

Lindsey notices her dejected expression. "No, I mean, you look great," she backtracks. "You know it's just my job to worry about you."

Sara gives a halfhearted chuckle. “It’s fine. Speaking of which, did you wanna get food?” she says hopefully.

“Yeah, I already called and got us salads from that place you like. They should be here soon.”

Salads? Ugh. She was thinking more like, a cheeseburger. Maybe two. And fries.

“Cool, sounds good,” Sara says instead. Man, life sucks.

“So I’ve barely heard a peep from you the past few weeks! You know texting doesn’t count,” LB complains.

Sara takes a deep breath. Best to get it over with.

“Yeah…look. I need to talk to you?” it comes out as a half-question.

LB pauses. There isn’t a woman on the planet who doesn’t understand what those words mean, and Sara can practically see her mind racing. Within seconds, the photographer’s face shifts from confusion to panic, but lands on neutral. Impressive.

“Sure, silly. What about?”

“Please, don’t…don’t hate me. But I don’t think this is working out,” Sara starts. “Us, I mean.”

Cliché, but she doesn’t have much to go on here. Lindsey seems sweet, and she has no intention of hurting her.

LB rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard that before. What is it this time, Tee? Was Amy pissed about my nip slip at the Billboard Music Awards?”

“No—I mean, yes, she wasn’t thrilled, but it’s not that,” Sara plays along, trying not to envision a drunk, scantily-clad LB stumbling into a limo. “This is just how I feel.”

Apparently, Lindsey does not consider feelings to be a valid enough argument.

“How you _feel_?” she says incredulously.

“Yeah. I…I just don’t want to do it anymore. I’m not feeling it. It’s just not where my heart is right now.”

This seems to flip a switch.

"Who is she?" Lindsey demands, brown eyes glinting with anger.

"W—what?"

" _Tegan_. Who is she?"

"There's no one," Sara says truthfully, but an ounce of guilt hits her with a small  _ping_ as Stacy's face flits across her mind. However, she can't use her as an excuse without betraying Tegan and further making a mess of it all, and it’s not like she’s even sure what’s going on there yet, anyway.

"Really, Linds. There’s no one else. I’m simply not—"

“—You don’t call me that,” LB interrupts, eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so weird?”

That’s it. Sara can’t take it anymore.

“Lindsey! I’m trying to break up with you!” she exclaims, making LB’s jaw drop.

“I…but why? Baby, what did I do?”

Sara racks her brain, trying to think of what Tegan would say. What anyone would say.

"It’s what you didn’t do,” she replies, trying to sound convincing. “I just, I don’t know, I feel like you never really loved me. And…you don’t really know me.” The second part is true. Wait, why does that sound so familiar?

Lindsey's eyes widen with recognition. "Is that—that's from one of your songs, isn't it?" she cries. "That's so fucked up that you would say that to me, Tegan!"

Okay, yeah, she'd quoted "Goodbye, Goodbye". Sue her!

Still, it seems to have its intended effect. LB's beautiful brown eyes fill with tears as understanding begins to dawn in them.

“You really mean it, don’t you? It doesn’t matter if you believe that I love you or not. Because _you_ don’t feel it,” she says softly. “You don’t love _me_.”

Sara shakes her head slowly. “No. I don’t,” she whispers, wishing she didn’t have to break this woman’s heart.

“I’m sorry.” She hesitantly reaches toward Lindsey, who is looking at her sorrowfully, moments away from officially crying.

“You realize…we can’t do the same thing again, Tee. This time, you can’t just run away for a month before deciding you want back in.”

Sara’s reply is almost inaudible. “I know.”

“Fabulous. So it was that easy for you to decide,” LB says sarcastically.

“No! No. This is…hard for me too,” Sara tells her, and it’s not a total lie. Lindsey doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Sara sighs. “I think I should go.”

“Do I at least get a goodbye?”

Sara assumes she means one last kiss. “Sure,” she shrugs.

There’s a flash of something across her face, and suddenly Sara’s left cheek is stinging. “Ow!” she yells. Did she just get _slapped_? Oh, Tegan owes her big time.

“That’s the least of what you deserve. Get out of my apartment, you fucking bitch. I hope I never see you again.”

Sara doesn’t need to be told twice, and she makes her hasty retreat, pausing for one second at the door in time to see LB break down in hysterical sobs. The door slams behind her and she races down the stairs, vacating the premises as fast as possible.

She keeps her head down as she passes their delivery guy in the lobby, and a shock of anger runs through her when she realizes Tegan had been too much of a coward to break up with LB on her own. She will _definitely_ be hearing from Sara later.

“Where to, Ms. Quin?” the driver asks. They’re ahead of schedule.

“In-N-Out. Now,” she grounds out, collapsing against the seat. Tegan Quin needs a burger and dammit, she’s going to get one.


	6. The Bodyguard

A few hours later, Sara’s driver pulls up to a nondescript cement building at West Hollywood Park, where she’s meant to have her fitting, because she is now an important celebrity, which means that every outfit has to be chosen and approved ahead of time. She can see that Amy and Stacy are waiting on the curb, and the two women approach the car as the bodyguard that has been riding with her all day opens the door for her.

Amy is speaking to someone on her headset, but abruptly ends whatever she’d been saying when she sees Sara climb out of the car. The older woman yanks the device out of her ears.

“Christ, Tegan. You were supposed to be here an hour ago. And you look like shit,” the publicist says bluntly, staring at her face. “Why are your eyes all red?”

“Hey, I—”

But Amy cuts Sara off. “Thank fuck you’re not going on _tonight._ Have you been _crying_?”

Okay, so she’d had a little sob session after the fiasco at LB’s. Her overreacting brain had once again rethought the whole thing—who knew burgers came with a side of crises of conscience?—but she did ultimately decide to keep at it. As she fled Lindsey’s, she nearly called Tegan to curse her out right then and there. But it would have been downright impossible to do so without the driver and security guy catching on, and she needed time to organize her thoughts, anyway.

Fortunately, the real reason for her distress doubles as an excuse for the tears.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sara winces. “I was, because Lindsey and I…we broke up,” she mutters, still feeling a little raw, so it doesn’t take much effort to produce the beginnings of fresh tears. She peeks up at Amy and Stacy through wet lashes for their reactions.

Stacy has the decency to look sympathetic, but Amy is gritting her teeth. “Again? Shit. Not a good time, Tee,” she groans, closing her eyes. “Was it you or her?”

Sara tries to steady her wobbling lower lip. She’s really beginning not to like this woman. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she says curtly, turning on her heel to go inside.

She had admired Amy’s straightforwardness earlier today, even finding it refreshing, but now it’s just rude. Who does she think she is, interrogating her about her personal life in the middle of the sidewalk?

“Are you fucking kidding? Of course it’s my business,” Amy says incredulously, keeping pace with Sara’s determined strides as Stacy follows closely behind. “You’re in the midst of press for a single, which, by the way, needs to be moving about two hundred thousand more units a week than it currently is, plus we still don’t have a date for the album, and you’re telling me this _now_? I need you focused,” she growls.

Sara purses her lips, thinking. Naturally, Tegan hadn’t given her any exact advice on the right way to tell everyone about the breakup. She’d simply led her to the diving board, and it seems that she’ll have to try not to drown all on her own.

“Relax, Ame. I’m not an idiot. It won’t, like, go public,” she says calmly as they walk down a hallway. She’s not actually sure where they’re headed, but the others aren’t slowing down, so it must be the correct direction. “LB won’t say a word, I promise.” This might be a lie, but Sara can’t worry about that now.

Meanwhile, Stacy silently hands over a bottle of Visine eye drops, which Sara accepts with a grateful smile. When she blinks away the solution, Amy’s frown has dissipated.

“Okay, I’m sorry, Tee,” she sighs. “I really am. And we can probably keep it under wraps at least for the next few weeks. If Little Miss Photog says anything, we’ll deal with that as it comes.”

Sara appreciates this unexpected display of human emotion, and tells Amy so before she can stop herself.

“Very funny. But please…no more surprises. Okay?” Amy practically begs the last part, but Sara guiltily remembers that there is indeed another surprise.

Sara turns to Stacy, ready to ask if she’d had the chance to fill Amy in on the tattoos, but is distracted when she recognizes James, the main security guard—the one who had been off duty for a few days—staring intently at them from in front of a dressing room door. Tegan had spoken warmly about him, and Sara looked forward to their meeting.

But James’ presence is imposing as he approaches the group of women, and she is surprised at how harsh the first words to leave his mouth are.

“Tegan, in here,” he commands in a booming voice, thrusting open the door to the dressing room. “Everyone else out. We need a minute.”

Sara’s mouth opens in disbelief, and she glances at Amy, whose expression is more annoyed than confused.

The publicist shakes her head. “James, it has to be now? Why?”

“Yes, now. I require a moment alone with Ms. Quin, and then you can carry on.”

Amy looks pissed. “We really don’t have time for—”

He gives her a steely glare. “I’m afraid it’s not up for discussion.”

Sara narrows her eyes. What’s going on? And isn’t anyone going to ask her what _she_ thinks? Why should she consent to going into a room alone with a guy without any details, even if they know each other?

James is staring at her impatiently, though, and she figures that it’s just some standard security briefing or some shit. Indeed, Amy tosses her head in a way that indicates approval (not that it seemed James was going to wait for that) and turns to her phone to begin typing furiously. Stacy just gives Sara a small shrug.

The brunette enters the room first and the door shuts behind them.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Sara attempts to sound lighthearted. “Not really a way to greet someone you haven’t seen in a week, huh?”

She crosses her arms, trying to mask her anxiety. What if he’s about to murder her or something?

“Skip it,” James growls. He takes a step towards her, his gaze roving over her face. Sara swallows.

Yeah, she’s gonna die.

“Um, skip what?”

“The niceties.”

His next words are a dangerously spoken statement of fact.

“You are not Tegan Quin.”

Sara gasps. How the fuck? “H-how did you—”

“Maybe it isn’t obvious to others, but I have been with her for quite a while now, and I knew instantly,” he replies softly, moving his hand over his suit jacket to what Sara can only assume is a concealed weapon. Her heart speeds up even more. When was the last time she spoke to her mom? She can’t remember. Oh, God.

“If you have harmed her at all, I will know,” he adds casually, towering over her as he comes a step closer, “And I will not make it easy for you.”

Sara’s not dumb. She knows “not make it easy for you” is code for “I’ll shoot you”. This is beyond unfair. If she dies, she is SO going to kill Tegan!

“You have thirty seconds to explain.”

“Okay, okay, wait,” she laughs nervously, trying not to freak out at the prospect of being offed by this mountain of a man.

Deep breath.

“I haven’t done anything to her! I promise. It’s…” she sighs. “It sounds insane, but here’s the deal. My name is Sara Clement…”

James’ face remains unchanged as Sara explains their outrageous situation, his eyes darting to her hair and clothes as she recounts each aspect. When she’s finished, his mouth is pressed into a firm line.

“How can I believe you?”

Sara blows a piece of hair out of her eyes, frustrated. “Dude! Are you serious? You can’t make that shit up!”

“You can’t possibly expect anyone to…”

“Hold on,” Sara interrupts, getting an idea. “Just hold it. I can prove everything.”

Sara pulls out her phone and dials Tegan, praying as it rings. _Please pick up, please pick up…_

“Hello? Sara, is everything okay?”

“Hi, yeah. But I’m here with James. He knew, like, right away, I don’t know how, but he thinks I’ve kidnapped you or something,” Sara says in a rush, feeling her insides shrink again as James stares at her like she’s a criminal. “Can you please just talk to him?”

Tegan sighs on the other end. “Put him on,” she directs.

Sara hands out the phone at the security guard, who cautiously takes it from her.

“James Hunt speaking,” he says formally.

Sara bites her lip, watching his brow furrow as he silently listens to Tegan explain the story on the other end. After a minute or so, he clears his throat, but Sara can only hear his side of the conversation.

His tone is furious at first.

“Do you realize how _dangerous_ this is? I don’t know what you were thinking...”

Then it’s worried.

“Yes, of course I will. But I can’t protect _you_ from here…I understand…Can I at least send someone to trail you?...Well, yes, I see how that could raise suspicion, but…”

Finally, the enormous man is won over.

“Two weeks? Alright,” he exhales. “But I want you to check in with me every day. And I mean every day, not sometimes, not just when you feel like it. _Especially_ if you think anything is going on; if anyone is following you. You know the drill.”

He hands the phone back to Sara, sighing. “She wants to talk to you again.”

She quickly asks Tegan: “What’s happening? What are we gonna do?”

“Don’t worry. He just gets super protective of me,” Tegan says, and Sara can hear her rolling her eyes. “It’s endearing, usually, but in this case, I’m sorry he almost shot you or whatever. It’s all good now,” she adds apologetically.

Sara can hear someone, probably Amy, banging on the dressing room door. She realizes they’ve been in here for ages.

“Okay,” Sara says, biting back a sarcastic response to the part about her almost dying. “I do have to go now, but I’ll call you tonight, okay? We have a lot to talk about,” she says. Understatement of the century.

When she hangs up, James is smiling for the first time, and Sara thinks that his blue eyes look a lot kinder now.

“We only have a second, but let’s start over,” he says, sticking his huge hand out toward her. “It’s great to meet you, Sara."

Her hand is tiny in comparison as she shakes his, and she smiles back. “You, too. Thank you.”

“Per our friend Tegan’s request, I will keep you from danger, and in doing so, I will also protect your…secret,” he promises. “We’ll meet privately again later today to discuss protocol, but for now, I think we should let poor Amy resume her schedule,” he adds, glancing at the door.

“Wait, just one thing,” Sara stops him before he turns away. “You knew right away, that I wasn’t…that I wasn’t her. How did you know so fast? And do you think other people are gonna figure it out?” she asks in a small voice.

There’s a beat before James answers her. “I have known Tegan for most of her adult life. Things that others do not notice practically jump out at me, and I don’t just mean appearance-wise,” he says thoughtfully. Sara can’t help but be a little touched. This guy is like a teddy bear when it comes to the singer, clearly.

“However, I am sure you’ve figured out that the average individual is easily fooled. I don’t think you need to worry about anyone…except for, perhaps, Ms. Reader,” he says, ending on a note of warning.

Sara’s face reddens. He couldn’t have possibly picked up on her potential thing for Stacy already, could he? They’d been together in his presence for all of two seconds.

Then again, that’s all the time he’d needed in order to know she wasn’t Tegan.

“Okay. I’ll, um, take that advice into consideration,” Sara says. It’s not like she could ever act on her possible feelings, anyway.

“Otherwise, we should have no problem,” James nods, glancing at her once more. “The resemblance is really incredible.”

Then he smirks, looking toward the door, which is shaking in its frame. “Shall we let in the angry mob?”

Sara takes a breath. “Yeah, let’s do it.”


	7. The Phone Call

Sara’s just about had it with trying on one outfit after another—too much of a good thing is no longer just that—when she's called to the stage for rehearsal. Right on cue, her nerves immediately make themselves known.

She is handed a microphone pack and in-ear device, and after staring down at them for a minute in puzzlement, James catches her eye across the room and mimes instructions for how she should put them on. After fiddling with the pieces, she figures it out, and soon the stage director's voice is filtering into her ear as the band takes their places onstage behind her.

"Okay, Tegan, check."

Sara frowns slightly. He's asking her to test the mic, right?

"Uh, testing," she says quietly, having no idea what's usually said in this situation. "Testing, one, two?"

She can see the director roll his eyes from the other side of the stage. "Speak normally, please," he huffs. "Give me a few sentences."

His impatience is not helping her anxiety.

She clears her throat. "Okay, I'm a little rusty, sorry. Um, hi, everyone. Nice weather we've been—”

"Great, that's fine."

There's a few more minutes of activity. Sara rocks back and forth on her heels, literally trying to shake off the jitters as the guitarist, drummer and keyboardists test their equipment and make adjustments.

"Good to go," someone else, maybe a PA, says in her ear.

Sara makes eye contact with her drummer and nods. He starts the beat, and she hears the beginning chords of "Closer" play.

Time to sink or swim.

"All I wanna get is  
A little bit closer..."

She barely gets through the first few lines of the verse before the guy is interrupting in her ear again. The band stops playing.

"Wait, wait. Tegan, what are you doing? What happened to the choreography we went over?"

"Um..."

Choreography? _Fuck._ She doesn't know any choreography!

"I was thinking, for this one, we could tone it down a little, make sure everyone just really pays attention to the song," Sara says, inventing an excuse on the spot. "I'm also getting over a cold and feeling a little fatigued," she adds. "So it might be best if I, like, take it easy. And it's why I probably sound a little...off."

She'd needed to explain why her voice might sound different, but Sara feels stupid as soon as she says the thing about being sick. She realizes that a popstar would never use illness as an excuse like that—it's just asking for pity. Now they probably won't take her seriously.

But the director sighs. "Okay, whatever you say. At least try to move around a little, keep everyone awake. You're also too loud—that's what the mic is for. From the top, please."

Well. No need to be rude about it.

They do the song again, and by the second chorus, Sara grows more confident and starts adding her own little runs that aren't in the official version. She works to breathe properly between the words, which is harder than one would think, but she begins to get the hang of it.

She's still paranoid that her voice sounds totally unlike Tegan's...but then she notices that even Amy has stopped paying attention to her phone, and James definitely looks impressed. Good.

Then there’s Stacy. More strands of thick blond hair have escaped from Stacy’s bun as she, too, watches the rehearsal. Sara thinks that the number of wayward strands would total approximately five, if she were keeping track. Which she is not.

Anyway.

By the end, she's sweating profusely, and it’s a struggle not to jump for joy when the director calls it a day. Sara says goodbye to everyone as the sun shines its last orange-gold rays, managing to drag herself into the car so she can finally go home.

* * *

"Sara! How did it go today?"

Tegan's hopeful voice wafts through Sara's iPhone's speaker. She chews and swallows her bite of takeout Pad Thai, allowing her eyes to shut as she tries to think of where to begin.

"Are you there?"

Sara snaps back to reality and before she knows it, the words are tumbling out. "Oh, well, let me see. I almost fainted at the gym, Lindsey slapped me in the face which caused me to cry in front of the drive-thru worker at In-N-Out, then your bodyguard nearly killed me, and finally, I was yelled at during rehearsal for not 'feeling it' enough."

She shoves another chopstick-full of noodles into her mouth before mumbling, "How's that for a recap?"

There’s a beat on the other end before Tegan speaks. "I...wow. I'm sorry all of that happened, Sar."

She sounds a little off, and Sara has the sneaking suspicion that she's holding back a laugh.

But she sighs, warming to the use of her nickname. "I'm being dramatic, I guess. It wasn't completely terrible. I'm just getting used to everything and…everyone." Like your total babe of an assistant, she adds silently.

"I can't imagine. Hey, what are you eating?" Tegan asks curiously.

"Pad Thai. I wish you were to here to try it." Sara moans, "It's sooo good." She surveys the various containers on the table. "There's certainly enough here for a small army."

Considering that the delivery guy included four sets of chopsticks, she may have overdone it. She doesn’t care.

" _And_ you had a burger today? Jesus, Sara, you're gonna make me fat!"

"Ha. You wish!" she eyerolls.

"What else have you eaten? All of Los Angeles, it sounds like?"

"Alright, first of all, it's not like we've switched bodies. This isn't _Freaky Friday_ ," Sara scoffs. "I'll eat what I damn well please. Your stuff is loose on me anyway, Miss Booty."

Tegan snorts right back at her. "Yeah, okay. Just wait until they try to get you in a crop top or something for a shoot. Then you'll be sorry."

"Fuck off! I'm happy," Sara laughs, digging her chopsticks back into the container and making a show of chewing loudly into the phone.

When Tegan finishes giggling, she gets back to business. "Okay, one thing at a time. You saw the trainer?"

Sara groans. "Yes. I wanted to die when it was over."

"Yeah, she's good," Tegan giggles. "That's why I go to her."

"Hm." She takes another bite. God, food is nice. Food is her friend. Food won't tell her she's _not emoting enough during the bridge._

Tegan's tone turns cautious." And...Lindsey?"

Sara covers her face with one hand. "Ugh, that was something," she says through gritted teeth. "Tegan, she's really in love with you. I didn't feel good about having to do that."

"Well, we didn’t really have a choice."

Instead of asking Tegan if there’s really no way she feels anything for Lindsey, Sara is reminded of her anger from earlier.

A spark ignites in her and she gathers the courage to speak her mind. "I don’t think I believe that, and it was uncool of you to push it on me. Why didn't you just do it yourself? Why wait until now?" she hisses.

Sara is surprised at how close to tears Tegan sounds when she answers. "I ran out of time," she mutters. "I wanted to, but I put it off, then I met you and everything started happening and it had to be done," she sniffles, "I'm sorry."

She sounds so distressed that Sara can't help but cave. "It's okay," she exhales. "I feel bad that I had to do that to her, and I don't even know her, that's all."

In the scheme of things, it's not a big deal, right?

"Because you're a good person. A better person than me, fuck, so much better. I can't ever thank you enough," Tegan says quickly.

"Um." Sara says intelligently, never not thrown by a compliment. "Thank you?"

The other woman laughs humorlessly. "Please, don't. I really am the worst for making you do that."

Sara doesn't want to talk about Lindsey anymore. She decides to change the subject. "So, uh, James is...very fond of you," she says, chewing.

Tegan gasps before she can continue. "Oh, my God. Oh, I am so sorry about that. I really had no idea that he—”

“—It’s fine," Sara interjects, tired of the apologies. "I mean, yeah, I was scared shitless, but it's not as if anything actually happened."

"Still. I completely forgot that out of everyone, out of the whole world, he would totally be the one to notice. I could have warned him."

Yeah, that occurred to Sara, too.

"Look, we can't go back. And it's okay, I'm glad to have someone else on the, uh, inside," Sara tells her. True enough.

"I wish I could be there, to help you." Now Sara hears real guilt in the singer's voice, but it doesn't make her feel any better. "It doesn't seem fair to you."

Sara sighs. "I'll be okay. Like I said, I just have to learn the ropes. But what about you? How was your day?" she asks, remembering that, duh, Tegan is also living her life. She’s also starting to get uncomfortable from talking about herself for so long.

Tegan perks up, switching gears.

"Oh, Sara, it's wonderful," she breathes, making Sara raise her eyebrows. "You have no idea. I woke up, I cooked an egg—then I went to work, to your job, and no one bothered me! I just watched the other worker for a bit until I knew what to do, and I…did it!"

Sara smiles at the genuine enthusiasm in her voice. "I'm glad. You can't be serious, though, that you think it's ‘wonderful’,” she quotes. “It has to be the most boring job in the world."

"No, you have to understand, it's, like, the greatest gift—I had time to think. I never do. But today I just thought about things, and then I went home and I even wrote some chords and..." Tegan trails off.  
  
"You did? That’s amazing!” Sara squeals. If Tegan's writing already, then maybe this whole ordeal will be over sooner than she'd hoped!

But there’s no response, and Sara shifts the phone from her ear and back again before she's sure she hasn't lost the connection. “Hello? What's wrong?"

Tegan clears her throat. "I, um, have to apologize for something."

Sara frowns. "I told you, stop doing that. I'm fine—”

"No, it's not that. I...I found a notebook here."

Sara's heart stops. That can only mean one thing.

"With poems, and, lyrics...songs," Tegan continues, "I'm guessing it's yours, and it was an accident, but it was just lying there and..."

"That's personal," Sara snaps. She's never felt so mortified. And a little scared, if she's being honest. "You had no right."

"I know, and I'm really sorry, I am, but listen to me for a second!" Tegan cries.

That does it. " _I_ should listen to _you_?” Sara says furiously. “This has better be good!"

"Sara, your songs...they're amazing," Tegan says slowly, clearly; in such a way that Sara swallows her next words and listens. "What I did was unforgivable, obviously, but I have to ask: you've never shown these to anyone?"

What is she getting at? "No, of course not."

"Why not?"

"For the same reason I'm upset you found them!" Sara explodes. "It's personal!"

"Okay, yes, I get it. But did you hear me before? These are really, really good lyrics. Like, I would hire you," Tegan says in a rush. "Hold on a sec."

Sara stares at her phone incredulously, resisting the urge to throw the slim device across the room, as Tegan disappears for a few moments. When she comes back, there’s a thump of something heavy against what might be a piece of furniture.

"Since I've already screwed this up enough, I might as well show you what I've been doing all evening," Tegan sounds farther away; she must be on speakerphone now, "Or play you, rather."

Sara can hear her tuning what can only be her own guitar. What the fuck?

"Just...try to have an open mind, please?" Tegan pleads.

It would seem that she has no choice. Sara is silent as the other woman, who is currently her absolute least favorite person on the planet, begins to play.

“Put a little of you into my heart  
Took a chance and you tore it apart  
I let a little light into the dark  
Cast the black out inside of my heart…”

Her heart picks up the pace again. They're her words, coming through the speaker on her phone, but the music is foreign. Tegan's perfect voice molds the words in a way that she could never, and between that and the upbeat chords, Sara's head begins to nod along on its own accord.

“See your face makes it hard to move on  
Hear your voice, can't manage alone  
Tell me what you're doing now, where you live  
Tell me are you in love, how you been  
I'm dying to know (hey)  
Is the one you ended up with everything you wanted?  
I'm dying to know, I'm dying to know.”  
  
She repeats the chorus a couple more times, and Sara doesn’t know what to say, except…wow.

"So? What do you think?"

"I...I like it," Sara admits. "It's really good."

This encourages Tegan. "This is nothing," she says excitedly. "With keys, synths, a proper drumline—I think it could be incredible. Your lyrics, though, they're what makes it. Don’t you see?"

It's a lot for Sara to take in. "Um, I guess I'm still confused. You want to sing them? The words, I mean?"

If Tegan wants them, fine. She can take them and get the hell out of her life. Sara can't imagine anyone caring about what she has to say, though.

"No, I don't," Tegan says casually.

Sara’s lost again. "Huh?"

"I want us to sing it. Together," Tegan explains. "James sent me a video from rehearsal today. You're crazy talented, Sara. I got a glimpse when you sang for me the other day, but now I know what you can do for real. I think this could be really incredible.”

Breathe.

“But I want to do it with _you._ "

At this, Sara freaks out and hangs up the phone, wrapping her arms around her head to muffle her anguished cry.  
  
It’s official: Tegan is out of her goddamn mind.

 


	8. The Kiss

Sara wakes before her alarm the next day, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She groggily reaches for her phone on the bedside table. It's been buzzing intermittently for the past few minutes, alerting her to an onslaught of new text messages. She doesn't know what time it is, but she knows it's too early.

The sun streams cruelly through the wooden blinds. She yawns lazily as her wandering hand finally lands on the metal device, which is cool to the touch from disuse. Still buried under the covers, she brings the screen to her face, squinting at the barrage of texts. They're all from Tegan and they grow increasingly panicked with each new time stamp. Her eyes widen at the sheer volume of messages, and she skips ahead to the most recent ones, clumsily shifting her body into an upright position.

Tegan Q: ...again, I'm so so sorry

Tegan Q: I know it's early but can we talk??

Tegan Q: If you’ve changed your mind about the whole thing, I won’t be upset, I just need to know before you do anything

Tegan Q: I'm sorry, I really am

Tegan Q: Sara???

Sara exhales a low groan when the speech bubble symbol pops up on the screen, indicating that Tegan is typing something yet again. She's got to put a stop to it.

Sara dials the phone.

"Hello? Sara, oh my God, I'm—”

"Stop texting me," she growls, cutting Tegan off. "It's like five in the goddamn morning."

Before Tegan can reply, Sara barrels on. "Let me be clear: I'm not quitting, but I definitely do not want to talk to you right now. Because I kind of hate you."

She pauses, reconsidering.

"On second thought, I definitely hate you. So I'm going to get through today without another word, and we will discuss this later. Okay?"

Sara hangs up without hesitation, groaning as she burrows back beneath the cozy sheets. Yelling at the other woman felt good, but she'll have to vent the rest of her anger at the gym later. Maybe she'll be allowed to punch something Tegan-shaped.

* * *

  
When Sara drags herself through the apartment door several hours later, drained from the workout (the second day turned out to be even harder, on account of her muscles were sore from the first time), it's the fragrant scent that hits her first, then the shocking sight. She drops the gym bag to the floor in horrified surprise.

Roses?

Yes. Somehow, nearly every surface in Tegan's kitchen and dining area is covered with roses. The counters, island, stools, table, and a significant portion of the floor are filled with the flowers, all of which are a deep red. The expletive catches in her throat when she zeros in on a small white card resting atop one of the arrangements. It reads:

_Please don't go. L.B._

Well, that's just fucking fantastic.

Sara leans against the wall, unable to resist plucking one of the thousands of roses from a vase and inhaling it deeply. She fingers the petals of the flower in her hand, her thoughts wandering.

She's never seen a romantic gesture close to this one, and as furious as she is at the inconvenience, she can't help but feel a pang of jealousy that someone cares about Tegan this much. She's ached for that type of devotion her whole life, and it seems unfair that she's been thrown in the middle of someone else's love story when she hasn't even truly lived her own yet.

Emy had been her most significant relationship to date. But just when she'd started to become attached to her—and it wasn't love, yet, but it had been getting there—the other woman had pulled away, leaving her behind with a staggering amount of heartache. It took Sara quite a while to heal. And she still isn’t totally there, if she’s being honest.

Shaking her head, Sara rejoins the present. She uses her phone to snap a photo of the scene, but she won’t tell Tegan until later. She has a lot to get through today, and she needs to concentrate.

* * *

“Tegan, darling, no need to smile so wide. That’s it.” _Click._

Sara tries not to let her frustration show. The photo shoot with _Rolling Stone_ is not going great. It was all fun and games when they were picking out clothes and putting makeup on her, but now that she has to actually model, it’s turning out to be harder than she’d thought.

The photographer is being kind to her, but she can tell he’s getting fed up with her obvious lack of expertise. _Click. Click._

“Almost. I need a little more…aloof,” he directs, impatience seeping into his voice. “Give me apathetic.”

What else can Sara do? She’s tried everything. Feeling defeated, her face falls on its own accord.

“Oh my God, yes! That’s perfect! Don’t move a muscle.”

_Click!_

Christ. She’s not sure how much more of this she can take.

* * *

At lunch, before soundcheck, Sara has her first encounter with the paparazzi. Well, it was bound to happen at some point.

“Stay close,” James mutters to her as they climb out of the car. Sara nods, and with Amy, Stacy and the rest of the entourage, they head for the restaurant doors.

As the flashes go off simultaneously, Sara makes the mistake of glancing towards the cameras. Her vision immediately turns black and then she's tripping, falling...but before she hits the ground, arms catch her, saving her from what would have been a hurtful and highly embarrassing accident.

She blinks, and sees Stacy and James looking down at her with concern. "Are you alright?"

That’s when Sara realizes that it hadn’t been James who caught her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sara mumbles, although she isn't, "Thanks for that."

Stacy releases her from her grasp and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of her bag, handing them to the shaken woman. "No problem. It happens."

Sara slips the glasses on and tries to ignore the pounding of her heart.

* * *

 

“Los Angeles! Are you having a good Pride?”

The crowd roars in response to Sara’s question, and the adrenaline of having thousands of people focused on her alone is a foreign feeling, but not altogether unpleasant.

“Glad to hear it! We’ve got just one for you today, but I think you’re gonna enjoy it. It’s my first time performing it live, so be nice, okay?”

More cheers.

“Thank you! Everyone get home safe. This song is called ‘Closer’.”

Sara’s heart fills with something she can’t define as the band starts playing and pink and teal lights wash over her. Looking out at the excited crowd, she takes a deep breath.

“All I want to get is…”

By the second chorus, not only does the audience clearly love the performance, but Sara is beginning to really get into it, too. She allows the upbeat music to reverberate through her bones, pouring her heart into the words she identifies with so completely she may as well have written them herself.

But when they get to the bridge, all of a sudden Sara is feeling just a little too warm under the bright lights. Tegan’s voice is crooning the “huh, huhs,” and “oohoos,” on the track, and Sara seizes the opportunity to pause in her own vocalizing and remove her leather jacket.

The crowd immediately goes insane, and Sara looks back out at them, startled. Alright, so she’d taken her jacket off, but the volume level coming from the audience is simply deafening. It has to be something else. Is the stage on fire? Her eyes dart around the stage, but nothing seems to be wrong.

Above the screaming, she throws her bassist a questioning glance, knowing there’s only seconds before she has to start singing again. What the hell is going on?

 _The tattoos_ , he mouths, laughing silently at her obliviousness. Sara looks down at her arms, which are now undeniably exposed in her black sleeveless top.

Oops.

As she looks out at the throng of screaming people, she can’t deny that the attention makes her feel powerful. Feeling more pumped than ever, she flashes a confident grin at the crowd, lifting the microphone to her face once again to finish the song.

* * *

Later, when they’re backstage, Amy leads her around to greet different people as if she’s on a leash. After a half hour of gushy congratulations from strangers, Sara needs out of this nonsense, and she loudly declares that she needs to use the bathroom and will just be a minute. As she’s about to duck into the dingy one-person restroom, a calm voice reaches her ears.

“Tegan?”

She turns around.

“Great show,” Stacy says, a small grin dancing on her pretty features. “Everyone loved it.”

“Um, thank you,” Sara replies, heart stuttering as she backs up against the door.

She hadn’t been aware that she was seeking Stacy’s approval, but hers is the first compliment she’s actually cared about all night.

“It’s…always difficult to debut a song live,” Sara mumbles. “I’m glad people liked it.”

Her words sound foolish to her own ears, but Stacy doesn’t look bothered.

“Yes, you sounded great. But I have to say, a little different from the track. Still getting over that cold?” Her tone is lightly curious, her voice quiet in the empty hallway.

Sara’s blood freezes in her veins as Stacy takes a casual step towards her. Does she suspect Sara isn’t who she’s supposed to be?

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sara says instead, meeting the other woman’s eyes with a tentative smile. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Stacy’s on to her.

“Oh, not in a bad way,” Stacy shakes her head, smiling back. “Just…different.”

Sara blinks. “Um. Maybe, like, higher, you mean?” she asks, trying to distract herself from the way the shadows from the dim light overhead are making Stacy look a whole other kind of sexy.

“Yes, something like that,” Stacy mutters, looking away. “And so clear. It’s very alluring.” She almost whispers the last part, and Sara wonders if she’d meant to say it out loud at all. But Stacy doesn’t apologize for her words, which could be taken as unprofessional in a normal setting.

But nothing about Sara’s life has been normal lately.

They’re almost touching at this point, and Sara can’t help but let her eyes roam across Stacy’s face. She hasn’t felt a physical pull like this since, well, Emy. She realizes that she doesn’t even know if Stacy is gay.

Only one way to find out.

“Stacy,” she says softly.

“Hmm?”

Feeling emboldened by her successful day, not to mention she deserves to be a little naughty after all Tegan has put her through, Sara decides to throw caution to the wind.

“Could I kiss you?”

Stacy’s expression, which appeared so serene just a moment before, turns to shock. “Oh,” she whispers.

A conflicted look flits across her face, and she’s probably thinking about how crazy Sara is for even assuming that she’s interested. Or, if she does want to kiss Sara, maybe she’s mulling over how her job could be at stake. Either way, Sara is willing to wait all night for the answer.

“Um…”

Sara’s breath catches in her throat.

“…Sure.”

Okay, then. Sara has to tilt her head up a little bit to meet Stacy’s lips with her own, and when contact is finally made, a tiny bolt of lightning zips straight to her core. They kiss for a few wonderful, important moments, and when Stacy pulls away, her eyes are glittering.

“That was very nice,” she says.

“I agree.”

“Are we in trouble?”

Sara shrugs. “Probably.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Stacy admits.

“Me neither.”

They lean in again at the same time, trading a giggle at their synchronization. A corner of her mind thinks about how when Tegan finds out, Sara will probably be toast.

Good thing she doesn’t care.


	9. The Makeup

The next morning, an insistent ringing from the apartment buzzer interrupts the best night’s sleep Sara has had in ages. She sleepily rubs her eyes as she grabs her phone from the bedside table, noting with alarm that it’s past ten. Feeling a small rush of anxiety, she hopes she hasn’t slept through anything too important.

Sara slides out of bed, and pulls up the app that displays a live feed of the security cameras at the penthouse. She mumbles an expletive when she sees who’s standing downstairs, and hastily grabs for a robe before tying it on.

Well, she’s known Tegan wouldn’t handle being ignored for too long. It was only a matter of time before she showed up in person. Sara also can’t deny that a conversation is overdue—she just hopes it doesn’t end with one of them storming out in fury. Or smashing something.

Padding to the kitchen, Sara is hit once more with the aroma of roses. Right, she’ll have to deal with _that_ soon. For now, she has to face the music, as they say. She presses the proper controls to let Tegan into the building, and moves to figure out the coffeemaker while she waits.

A few moments later, the elevator doors are sliding open, and Tegan practically leaps out, brandishing her phone in one hand.

“What the fuck is this?” she demands, thrusting the device towards Sara.

Sara raises one eyebrow, waiting for Tegan to notice the roses. She’ll look at whatever Tegan is trying to show her after they address the more obvious problems on their plate.

(Also, not to be self-centered, but is she even going to comment on Sara slaying that Pride performance?)

After a beat, Tegan forgets her question, and her angular jaw opens with a _pop_. “Oh, my God,” she says, eyes darting around the kitchen at the plethora of red blooms. “Holy shit. Where did these come from?”

“It would seem,” Sara replies calmly, walking over to check the progress on the coffee, “That I didn’t do as good of a job breaking up with Lindsey as I thought.”

She gestures at the sight.

“These arrived yesterday, and I couldn’t even begin to think of what to do with them. If you have any ideas, let me know.”

Sara pours the hot coffee into two mugs, marveling at how it seems like it was yesterday that Tegan was inviting her over and doing the same. Full circle, indeed.

She glances over at Tegan, who is silently touching one of the petals, working it between her thumb and pointer finger just as Sara did the day before. Tegan’s other hand’s grip tightens on the phone while she appears to try and think of what to say.

“I’ll take care of it,” she finally says under her breath. Sara watches the singer curiously, looking for evidence that she appreciates the gesture or is even angry, but her expression is devoid of emotion.

“What did you, uh, want me to see?” Sara prods, changing the subject. She brings the mugs over to the island, shoving a few vases away to make room, and hops onto a stool.

“Oh.” Tegan’s face clouds over once more, and she hands over her phone. “You wanna explain?”

Sara peers at it with a frown. Tegan has pulled up TMZ, and despite being a celebrity trash site, its latest story has a headline that makes Sara’s heart drop right to her feet:

**TEGAN QUIN: BREAKING UP ISN’T HARD TO DO**

_Tegan Quin is bouncing back from photographer Lindsey Byrnes just fine by making out with a new blonde. She was seen hanging all over the other woman last night after Pride in Los Angeles. We don't know how long this has been going on, but they're definitely a thing…based on these pics._

The “pics” in question are of the grainy cellphone variety, and a spike of anger goes through Sara as she realizes someone else at the party took and sold them to the site. She’d thought they were alone, but it turns out the opposite was true. Stacy’s face is hidden in the photos, but she’s sure someone will figure it out soon.

Sara tears herself away from the phone to take a sip of coffee, struggling to collect her thoughts. It had been a special moment, and she feels undeniably violated.

Before she can say anything, Tegan is barreling on. “I’m sorry about the other night, and going through your stuff,” she says. “I really am. But if this is some sort of revenge play, that’s…kind of immature, Sara!”

Sara sets her mug down more sharply than she’d intended. “First of all, I think it’s obvious that I hadn’t meant for anyone to find out,” she hisses. “I mean, I assumed that _you_ would, but certainly not like this.”

The other woman seems taken aback at her tone. Good.

“I’m not trying to, like, ruin your career or anything,” Sara continues, “And the fact that you think I’d stoop so low is frankly insulting.”

Tegan’s next words are a little softer. “I know. But were you even thinking? You have to know how this looks.” She gives a nervous chuckle, waving the phone in the air once more.

“I…thought we were alone,” Sara admits, feeling small now that she's the subject of Tegan's fury. “But I promise, I wasn’t trying to, like…”

Tegan takes a deep inhale, making the effort to relax her stance. “It’s okay. I've already talked to Amy on the phone and she'll handle it."

"Alright, that makes me feel a little better."

"And I know you wouldn’t do something stupid on purpose. I’m sorry.”

Sara narrows her gaze. That reminds her. “You, on the other hand…”

Tegan winces.

“I trusted you, and you violated that,” Sara says quietly. “Especially as an artist, you should know what a notebook like that would mean. Not just to me, to anyone.”

Sara’s surprised to find that the look on Tegan’s face is, well, heartbreaking. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I am sorry, and of course I regret it,” she murmurs.

Sara has nothing else to say to this. But when Tegan’s eyes begin to water, she almost wishes she had said something. Fuck.

“This doesn’t justify it, but I was looking for, like, a way to connect us,” Tegan confesses, a tear trickling down the side of her face. “So that when this is all over, you would still have a reason to want…”

Sara looks at her expectantly.

“…To want to be friends with me,” Tegan manages, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, I’m being stupid,” she laughs, trying to alleviate the sudden weight of the air in the room.

Sara’s chest squeezes as she takes this in. As “Tegan,” she’s been surrounded by people who applaud her every move and fawn over her on a consistent basis. But what about real friends? James and, okay, Lindsey come to mind, but now that Sara really stops to think about it, she’s been living Tegan’s life for over a week and she hasn’t heard from anyone who could be considered a friend. She’s been texting her own friends and mom like usual, yet on Tegan’s end, there’s been nothing. She’d figured people hadn’t been reaching out was because she was working, but now she’s not so sure.

They say it’s lonely at the top…

She exhales. “Oh, Tegan,” she says, her own eyes welling in sympathy. “We are friends, you dummy.”

Tegan gives her a hopeful look, and again, Sara’s heart breaks for the loneliness written there. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” Sara chuckles. “And sometimes friends do stupid things to each other, which you should know about.”

Tegan looks away.

“But they also forgive each other,” Sara adds kindly.

“Not sure I deserve that,” Tegan mutters.

“Hmm, maybe not. Okay, I take it back,” Sara responds with a giggle. She reaches out to give Tegan’s wrist a comforting touch, and at that, the other woman smiles back weakly.

“You’re too good. I have a lot to work on,” Tegan sighs. “I’d like to be a great friend, but I don’t know if I know how.”

Sara shrugs. “It’s kind of a learn-as-you-go-along thing,” she tells her. “We could start by sharing a secret?”

“Other than the obvious, you mean?” Tegan snorts, blowing a piece of blond hair out of her face in the same breath.

Sara laughs at the reference to their situation. “Yeah, other than that. I’m sure you’re dying to know who the mystery blonde is,” she says coyly.

“Ooh, yes! Tell me!”

“Okay.” Sara takes a breath. “It’s, ah, Stacy,” she reveals.

Tegan’s brow furrows. “Assistant Stacy?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stacy Reader, yes.”

“Hah, you can’t even say her name without looking all giddy,” Tegan smirks. “You’re really into her, then?”

Sara smiles sheepishly. “You could say that.”

Something occurs to Tegan. “Wait, she doesn’t know, does she?” she gasps.

“No, I don’t think so,” Sara shakes her head. “But I want to tell her. Before it goes too far,” she says firmly.

“Yeah, that could be a problem,” Tegan muses. “Okay. What if we told her tomorrow?”

“You’d be okay with that?” Sara says, shocked. “I was just going to wait until we, like, switched back.”

“Great plan. Except that you’ve already made out with her, genius. Are you just going to pretend that never happened for another week? Or more?”

“No, I…Oh, I don’t know!” Sara says, frustrated. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You have to tell her,” Tegan says, “If you’re as into her as I think you are. Don’t blow this,” she advises in a wise tone. “It’s too good to pass up.”

Does Sara detect a hint of wistfulness there? But she’s right. “Okay, any ideas?” Sara asks.

The twinkle has returned to Tegan’s eye. “I might have one…”

 


End file.
